In lieu of a brief introduction:
I met this guy a few years ago. Being young and stupid, I went out with him a few times and not being THAT young or THAT stupid, I stopped talking to him roughly three weeks after our first date. This decision was speeded along by our second date, where he was waiting for me outside his place in a towel. Yes, a towel. I then had to wait inside while he went to get dressed. No comment, right?
Now fast-forward a few years. I'm at a popular bar with my friends, and suddenly notice a familiar face. Well, if it isn't the Arab's friend, that I haven't seen in at least 5 years. We say a few polite "how are you's" to each other. I decide to be nice and inquire about the Arab. "How is your friend doing?" The Friend looks at me in some confusion. "Which friend?" I smile, "You know -- Ahmed." The Friend is now clearly embarassed. "Umm.. He is doing fine. He is standing right next to me!" To my horror, I realize that the guy at his side, the one that I dismissed as completely unattractive when I walked up to them, is actually Ahmed! I mumble something about having to get to my friends and run away. What a bitch I must seem to them... but it was an honest mistake, I promise! It's not my fault that Ahmed didn't leave a very lasting impression.. plus it was sooo long ago!
Which brings me to the present moment, a restaurant, and... Ahmed staring at me across the table. "You look so much better than 5 years ago". That's the true way to a woman's heart. Tell her she was ugly in the past, but now she looks "better". I guess that's suposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy, being in a place where I don't want to be, on a date with a man I don't want to be with... I smile weakly and take a sip of my Vodka/Red Bull. Should I try to get drunk maybe? Nah -- my drive home is at least 20 minutes... I guess I'll have to face this sober.
Basically, I only have myself to blame. Ahmed found me somehow again a couple of days ago. I was sitting at a coffee shop, not bothering anybody, doing my homework, when he walked in and made his way directly to my table. I didn't realize what a blessing it was not to run into him these last few years. Sure enough though, I had to be nice, since I already felt like I'll be burning in hell for asking about a man right in front him, clearly forgetting his face, if not his name. So one thing led to another and I agreed to go to dinner, for old time's sake. It's that "being nice to strangers" thing again...
So here we are. "How old are you now?", he asks. "23, almost 24." "Oh, great. A perfect time to have children!" "Excuse me?", I stammer. I don't remember him being THIS weird. But maybe it's because back then I was 18 and was not in my baby-making prime, in his opinion, just yet. "I said, you're the right age to start a family. How many children do you want to have?" I don't like the direction of this conversation. I twirl my hair -- a bad habit picked up in an upscale salon I had to call my job right after college. "Umm, maybe two? Haven't thought about it much, really. " "Why just two?" Ahmed exclaims, "Why not three, four, five? Children are a blessing!" There is only way I can reply. "Sure, Ahmed, I'll be very happy for my two kids to play with your five... If we still know each other by then!". Somehow that response doesn't rub him the right way, but he recovers quickly. I guess he figures there is still plenty of time to set me on the right course in life. He'll get his 5 to 15 children out of me yet, or his name isn't Ahmed.
Figuring that he planted the initial seed in my mind, Ahmed proceeds to talk about his brother who married an Eastern European woman in Canada is now living in perfect harmony with his great cook of a wife. I'm very happy for Ahmed's brother, but can't quite relate that story to him, myself, or anything that will involve either of us.
We start talking about traveling, moving places for work, etc. That's all fine and great and I almost start to regain my composure and sense of humor, when he drops another bomb... We're discussing the difficulties associated with moving to a different city. After all, what if you don't like you new job or new location? How do you come back home when you've already lost your old job? Ahmed smiles widely and announces: "Well, you can always come live with me. Anytime... Even right now. My home is your home." After that comment, I figure the less I say the better. This goes well with his offer of a new cell phone, when my reception seems to be failing inside the restaurant.
What a nice and generous guy, I should be thinking, right? Then why am I getting this creeped out feeling and silently hope that he doesn't find my home address in the White Pages before I delete it tonight?
Another hour and two drinks later, I find out that Ahmed's family owns a large number of camels back home, which, apparently consitutes a great wealth, since each camel can costs thousands of dollars. I wonder if they herd them in the desert somewhere and meanwhile live in the city? How DO you sustain a large ownership of camels? How do you make a profit off of them, unless you sell them? I make a mental note to Google "Camel care and maintenance", or something like that. At least I'll learn something new as a result of this stupid dinner.
Meanwhile, Ahmed is wasting no time. "So, when will I see you again?" Thankfully, I'm going out of town for the next few days, which I truthfully share with him. I try to imply that after I come back, and for the entirely of my earthly life after that, I'll be insanely busy. On his part, he is trying very hard not to understand me.
Ten days and ten phone calls later, Ahmed finally stops pestering me.
Moral of the day: Do not try to reconnect with someone who didn't even rememebr your face.
I met this guy a few years ago. Being young and stupid, I went out with him a few times and not being THAT young or THAT stupid, I stopped talking to him roughly three weeks after our first date. This decision was speeded along by our second date, where he was waiting for me outside his place in a towel. Yes, a towel. I then had to wait inside while he went to get dressed. No comment, right?
Now fast-forward a few years. I'm at a popular bar with my friends, and suddenly notice a familiar face. Well, if it isn't the Arab's friend, that I haven't seen in at least 5 years. We say a few polite "how are you's" to each other. I decide to be nice and inquire about the Arab. "How is your friend doing?" The Friend looks at me in some confusion. "Which friend?" I smile, "You know -- Ahmed." The Friend is now clearly embarassed. "Umm.. He is doing fine. He is standing right next to me!" To my horror, I realize that the guy at his side, the one that I dismissed as completely unattractive when I walked up to them, is actually Ahmed! I mumble something about having to get to my friends and run away. What a bitch I must seem to them... but it was an honest mistake, I promise! It's not my fault that Ahmed didn't leave a very lasting impression.. plus it was sooo long ago!
Which brings me to the present moment, a restaurant, and... Ahmed staring at me across the table. "You look so much better than 5 years ago". That's the true way to a woman's heart. Tell her she was ugly in the past, but now she looks "better". I guess that's suposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy, being in a place where I don't want to be, on a date with a man I don't want to be with... I smile weakly and take a sip of my Vodka/Red Bull. Should I try to get drunk maybe? Nah -- my drive home is at least 20 minutes... I guess I'll have to face this sober.
Basically, I only have myself to blame. Ahmed found me somehow again a couple of days ago. I was sitting at a coffee shop, not bothering anybody, doing my homework, when he walked in and made his way directly to my table. I didn't realize what a blessing it was not to run into him these last few years. Sure enough though, I had to be nice, since I already felt like I'll be burning in hell for asking about a man right in front him, clearly forgetting his face, if not his name. So one thing led to another and I agreed to go to dinner, for old time's sake. It's that "being nice to strangers" thing again...
So here we are. "How old are you now?", he asks. "23, almost 24." "Oh, great. A perfect time to have children!" "Excuse me?", I stammer. I don't remember him being THIS weird. But maybe it's because back then I was 18 and was not in my baby-making prime, in his opinion, just yet. "I said, you're the right age to start a family. How many children do you want to have?" I don't like the direction of this conversation. I twirl my hair -- a bad habit picked up in an upscale salon I had to call my job right after college. "Umm, maybe two? Haven't thought about it much, really. " "Why just two?" Ahmed exclaims, "Why not three, four, five? Children are a blessing!" There is only way I can reply. "Sure, Ahmed, I'll be very happy for my two kids to play with your five... If we still know each other by then!". Somehow that response doesn't rub him the right way, but he recovers quickly. I guess he figures there is still plenty of time to set me on the right course in life. He'll get his 5 to 15 children out of me yet, or his name isn't Ahmed.
Figuring that he planted the initial seed in my mind, Ahmed proceeds to talk about his brother who married an Eastern European woman in Canada is now living in perfect harmony with his great cook of a wife. I'm very happy for Ahmed's brother, but can't quite relate that story to him, myself, or anything that will involve either of us.
We start talking about traveling, moving places for work, etc. That's all fine and great and I almost start to regain my composure and sense of humor, when he drops another bomb... We're discussing the difficulties associated with moving to a different city. After all, what if you don't like you new job or new location? How do you come back home when you've already lost your old job? Ahmed smiles widely and announces: "Well, you can always come live with me. Anytime... Even right now. My home is your home." After that comment, I figure the less I say the better. This goes well with his offer of a new cell phone, when my reception seems to be failing inside the restaurant.
What a nice and generous guy, I should be thinking, right? Then why am I getting this creeped out feeling and silently hope that he doesn't find my home address in the White Pages before I delete it tonight?
Another hour and two drinks later, I find out that Ahmed's family owns a large number of camels back home, which, apparently consitutes a great wealth, since each camel can costs thousands of dollars. I wonder if they herd them in the desert somewhere and meanwhile live in the city? How DO you sustain a large ownership of camels? How do you make a profit off of them, unless you sell them? I make a mental note to Google "Camel care and maintenance", or something like that. At least I'll learn something new as a result of this stupid dinner.
Meanwhile, Ahmed is wasting no time. "So, when will I see you again?" Thankfully, I'm going out of town for the next few days, which I truthfully share with him. I try to imply that after I come back, and for the entirely of my earthly life after that, I'll be insanely busy. On his part, he is trying very hard not to understand me.
Ten days and ten phone calls later, Ahmed finally stops pestering me.
Moral of the day: Do not try to reconnect with someone who didn't even rememebr your face.
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