I don't know who these people are, but I sure want to be on their date. They look like my kind of people - because they're demolishing a four-pack of red velvet cupcakes and slurping on caramel macchiattos.
They might not have anything in common with each other - but as long as they both like to eat, it's a start!
I've made no bones about the fact that I'm an unabashed people watcher. I especially like to eavesdrop on dates. I watch the faces above the table and the position of the hands and feet below the table and try to figure out if there will be an afterparty. Or not.
Let me try to describe the scene.
I don't think the date is going too well, actually. When I showed up, he was waiting at a table near the window, wearing khaki shorts, a black T-shirt (it reads Donuts Schmonuts - Eat a Bagel) and tennis shoes. Presentable, but casual. He's pale, with freckles and probably can't go outside without SPF 50. He's pushing the Interstate speed limit and has a smallish spare tire.
She races in at 6:30 p.m. in a basic brown office suit and low heels. She's short and quite a ways from a size zero. While certainly not ugly, you'd probably describe her personality when listing good qualities. Her fashion sense is not on that list, nor her choice of hair stylists. Dear Margery also needs someone to point out that the big black eyeglasses make her face look like an owl.
Anyway. He leaps ups, she fumbles awkwardly toward him and they greet. This must be some sort of blind date.
They order two grande caramel macchiattos and a four pack of red velvet cupcakes. And two plates.
They sit by the window and proceed to carve up the cupcakes, two apiece, in a very civilized manner. As it turns out, that was the last civilization we were going to get.
The evening went downhill from there.
Coffee was drunk and cupcakes were eaten. And voices were raised. And raised some more. There were phone calls made and Conrad might have even tried a little cajolery.
They finally sit there, staring at each other, a pile of napkins crumpled onto the plates, crumbs everywhere and one sad coffee cup (his) lying on its side. She's gripping hers as if she wants to squeeze the life out of it.
Conrad and Margery stare at each other for a while. She's pushed the chair way, way back from the table, as if physically she can't stand to be near him. Although she seemed perfectly happy to eat with him. Nobody says anything.
Then he leaps up, grabs the assorted detritus and stomps over to the condiment bar and starts cramming it all down into the garbage slot. If you know the plastic container the cupcakes come in, you know it doesn't exactly fit. So he starts pummeling it. Margery simply stares, blankly.
He sits. She stares. He stares. I hope they didn't have children. I can't imagine the nights in that house, four Swanson foil-wrapped dinners served on trays, staring at the television...
Just as I'm wondering if they're going to stare all night, she hops up and grabs her purse. He stands and they walk out. Silently. Nobody says one word as they exit.
They give each other one more long, nasty look on the sidewalk outside, get into separate cars and go their separate ways.
Once together, now forever apart.
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