This is a story about romance, a heart-wrenching misadventure and a rejection that I can’t put behind me.
Many years ago, when I was in my twenties, I worked in Ottawa where I shared an apartment with a guy from my workplace. He was rather cool and seemed to get dates at the drop of a hat. As for myself, I hadn’t met the right one so far.
Our apartment was in the Britannia area. One evening in October I went to the Bay store to buy some clean underwear. The underwear came in colours, so I bought a set of black, blue and red pair each.
While in the checkout I noticed a girl in the next one over. She had beautiful long black hair and I couldn’t help staring at it. When she turned her head, I was instantly attracted to her and just had to talk with her. A minute or so later I accidently jostled her and heard her respond, “Hey jerk. Watch where you’re going!”
I said, “I’m sorry,” in my best actor’s voice then quickly added, “Please let me make it up to you with a coffee.” After an agonizing 10 second delay or so she said, okay.
We went to the food court and our conversation flowed like a tranquil stream. Before we parted, she invited me to her place for dinner, a pre-thanksgiving one she said. I beamed like the moon overhead which gave me a knowing wink. She handed me her address but no phone number – maybe a test or something?
The days dragged like molasses until it was time to leave for her apartment. I wore my finest shirt, the red underwear to enhance my fortunes and best pair of blue jeans.
When I arrived, I was pleasantly invited in. Glancing around I was intrigued to see a rather low table set up for a fondue. The pots were already warming and numerous candles on the table were lit to increase the ambience. I’d never been at a fondue before.
After removing my shoes, she gave me a tour of her apartment. It wasn’t big but was nicely decorated. I noticed that she a big comfy bed in the bedroom covered with fluffy pillows. I thought to myself, what if we were to end up in a pile of pillows at the end of evening.
First though the fondue. It looked so romantic but also complicated. A fair-sized heated black pot with a sauce sat in the centre of the table. Small dishes of pieces of meats, vegetables and cheese accompanied by long forks were arranged alongside. At one end was a smaller pot with a chocolate mix as if calling my name.
We were to sit on opposites sides but while trying to sit, I ended up in a very uncomfortable position and became unbalanced. I was supporting myself with my free hand on the floor, but it was becoming fatigued. Eventually I toppled over, my fork flying somewhere with a piece of pork attached.
My hostess alarmed at the unorthodox movement reached over the table to help me. It was at that moment when some ends her lovely black hair, too close to a candle caught on fire sending her into a state of emergency, screaming as she rushed to the kitchen-sink faucet to dowse her whole head of hair with water.
I rushed over to offer help. She had the burning hair under control but not the smell of it. He face displayed humiliation, let alone what the messy hair implied – I prepared for the worst. She shouted at me, “Get out of here right now and never come back.”
I did try and calm her down but to no avail. I grabbed my shoes and made a hasty exit.
With no phone number to get in touch, I did return to the area a few times hoping to catch sight of her. Out of respect for her pride, I didn’t knock on the door.
It was a long time before that frightful fondue scene stopped haunting me but the lost opportunity of getting to know a terrific girl stayed much longer.
