My buddy told me before Christmas that he had a client he wanted me to meet. Seems this guy had thrown out one of those "don't you know anyone you can introduce me to?" after having finally come to terms with the fact that he and his former girlfriend weren't going to make it.
So Wednesday we all went out to dinner -- my buddy, his friend Christian that I had met only minutes before, me and The Guy.
The restaurant was good and The Guy picked up the entire tab.
Ok, that's the best part. It definitely goes down hill from here.
Wait . . . Christian was good, too. When he met me he said I looked fabulous and at least pretended to be shocked when he heard my age! Plus he rolled his eyes at all the right times when The Guy was on what he thought was a roll. He wasn't.
The Guy wasn't bad looking. In fact, I'm sure people tell him he favors Michael Douglas -- thinner, smaller frame but the hair and the angles of the face are similar.
He wasn't exactly rude either. He just never looked at anyone else at the table except my buddy -- the one guy he knew. He told long stories with no real punch line and he told everyone of them to my buddy. I can't emphasize this enough. It was as if my buddy's face had a magnet attached and The Guy's eyes were locked in some sort of force field.
When he left for a rest room break, we pounced.
"He's nervous! Don't you think?"
"He's gotta be. He can't talk to anyone but me!"
"Has he looked at you once, Karen?"
"That time he asked me what I did, then answered for me and began a new story which he proceeded to tell to YOU."
"Well, at least we know he's rich."
Dear Christian had to throw that in . . . after we'd heard about an Armani suit, a cashmere coat, a Mercedes, a condo in Houston and a place in Denver -- all details in various long stories with seemingly no real plot twists.
Once the boys left me alone with him while they took a "smoke break." He found the tabletop fascinating, asked about where I fell in my family birth order, told me I must be spoiled as a result of my status and then launched into a story about how his brother was one of the spoiled ones. He then wondered when the boys might be returning from what he deemed was at least a two cigarette break.
At least twice he touched my arm ... as if he was trying to let me know that he did realize I was there, or else checking to make sure I was.
So I'm left with choosing between "he's just not into you" or "he's really, really, really out of practice" or "he's socially inept." Which would you go with?