No mood for men

Saturday was a gorgeous day, 70F and sunny, barely a cloud in the sky. I took the subway out to Brooklyn Botanical Garden on Saturday with Priscilla, my horticulturally inclined Brazilian friend from cardio kickbox class. Priscilla is your stereotypical Brazilian in that she’s utterly drop-dead gorgeous. She's also much more forthright than I expected given her reserved demeanor in class. It was the first time we'd hung out outside of the gym and she was telling me why, at 55, she's given up on the men in New York.

"I have no mood for men, I have machine" she exclaimed loudly as I clapped my hands over the ears of a passing child. After years of effort she's decided she no longer has the patience to put up with the male of the species. She's certainly not intending to ever live with a man again since they "take up valuable closet space, sweat when they sleep and wake you up for sex in the middle of the night." She's completely done. Finito!! She's washed her hands of 'em, although she hasn't gone quite as far as two of her friends who became lesbians owing of the lack of decent men in New York. They feared growing old alone and turned to each other for comfort and…well now they're a couple.

Quite a drastic measure I thought, but whatever floats your boat. I wonder if this is what I have to look forward to. I can't imagine I'll go that route, I love my girlfriends to bits, but there are boundaries. If anything I envisage more of a Golden Girls scenario, bingo nights, that sort of thing, but hey, you never know, the man thing hasn't exactly been a roaring success to date.

Speaking of men, I stopped by Kyotofu on Thursday intending to say hello to Michael, the cute guy I got talking to in Cafe Grumpy last weekend. I coerced Francesca into coming along, got myself all psyched up and guess what…he wasn't there!! It was very disappointing. Fortunately the desserts are extremely delicious and more than compensated for the lack of totty, we ordered a dessert sampler each paired with sake and had a lovely time catching up.

We were close to finishing our food when Michael walked in and my tummy did a small somersault. I was all ready to catch his eye and say hello, my arm was even half raised in a wave, when some bloke, three tables down, pipped me to the post, calling out to him and waving him over. Tsk, the cheek of the man barging in like that and snatching away my opportunity for potential romance. I was not best pleased I can tell you. He was clearly someone Michael knew, but didn't strike me as a friend, a regular customer maybe, or a business associate. They chatted a while and the couple of times I looked over I noticed Michael's eyes would dart around the restaurant, checking his customers were happy. He had a 'I really need to get to work, but I don't want to be rude' sort of body language going on. After about 10-15minutes, Michael excused himself to start work and bustled off into the back.

Francesca and I were finishing the last of our sake he came over to clear the table beside us and asked if he could get us anything else. I realised this was my opportunity and briefly considered saying something, but I chickened out and just asked for the check. Francesca was not at all impressed with me and disgustedly called me a wimp, but what can I say, the timing just didn't seem right, he was too preoccupied with work, and I just wasn't getting the right vibe from him. I don't think he even clicked that we'd met a few days ago in Cafe Grumpy, which makes me think that his initial interest was more likely because he was trying to drive business to the restaurant than any attraction towards me. And to think I missed salsa class to stop by too.

Deesha thinks I should call him, but I doubt I will. It feels a little undignified, not to mention a little cougarish, for a woman of my years to be chasing after a 24year old. It would be okay if the aforementioned 24year old had shown clear interest and I was reciprocating, but since he didn't I'm chalking it up to a pleasant coffee shop encounter and moving on. NEXT!!!!

I can't say I am having any luck with Salsa Beppe either. He flirts a lot, gives me huge hugs and always tells me how good I look and how nice it is to see me. He even suggests we go out dancing sometime. I am encouraging and show interest, but he does NOTHING!!! All mouth and no trousers that one. In fact our exchanges are all very high school…

Salsa Beppe: So F, did I ever tell you that you’re my favourite Brit?
Me (smiling): And the only Brit you know I imagine?
Salsa Beppe (defensively): No, no, not at all, I know quite a few
Me (eyebrows raised): Umm hmmm, right
Salsa Beppe: It’s TRUE. I work with someone who's half British. They drink tea and everything.

He was serious about the tea drinking thing, many Americans seem to think this is what Brits do all day. When I first moved here I was gobsmacked by the number of people who asked me if we Brits really do stop work each day at 4pm to "take tea". They were serious too. Uh-huh of course we do, we drink Earl Grey from fine china teacups and eat cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Eyeroll.

At least dancing wise the salsa classes are generally going well, although last week was interesting, and not necessarily in a good way. The instructor taught us a step where the followers walk forward and the leaders step to our right while lightly pressing the pads of two fingers to our stomachs, about level with our waists, pushing the followers back into a basic step.

You could tell the guys who were more experienced dancers as they didn't just prod you in the stomach. One guy, who's always a bit heavy handed, prodded me so hard in the belly I had a bruise the next morning. Others didn't aim so well, possibly on purpose, with some hands coming a bit TOO close to my chest, about 2-3 inches north of where they should have been aiming. One guy even managed to prod me between my breasts. He doesn't know how dangerously close he came to a new addition to the dance pattern called a knee in the goolies.

Ai Caramba!!