Friday, July 09, 2004
Service: * * *
Food: * * *
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * *
Bianca and I are chatting. It's that awkward chatting before you've gotta say the things that have to be said. Stuff like, "So Cape Town was really cool?"
"Yeah. I really needed the holiday. Had some really cool interactions. One or two dates."
"I felt a twinge of jealousy when you told me about those."
She's ordered nachos, and I'm getting through a chicken sandwich. They can't cook anything that requires frying, cos something's happened to Joburg's gas supply, so restaurants all over are in trouble. The sandwich isn't very inspiring. And Bianca's nachos look revolting. Melted cheese all over.
"Yeah," I say. "So, uh, maybe we should talk about our feelings for each other."
"Hmm, yes, I suppose so," she says.
So we mutually give each other the bullet. No tears, no wrenching jabs to the solar plexus. Nothing really. Just a brief discussion about the fact that we both knew that this wasn't a permanent situation, that we've been waystations for each other in getting over previous breakups, and that we're ready to move on. Very rational.
After, I say, "So does this mean we're not gonna shag anymore?"
"Fraid so," she says. "But you WILL still come shopping for fishnet stockings with me now, won't you?"
She has an audition for a soap opera on Monday, and needs to look slutty and very young.
"Of course I'll come! Can I help you try them on?"