It start out innocently enough: a glass or two of wine at the Four Seasons to stave off being in bed at 6 p.m. on a dreary night. I texted the suitor a la moment: he joined and I ordered my third glass of wine...otherwise known as the gateway drink for Miss McCloud (Gingham cleverly refers to such moments as "red flags")
He wanted dinner, to which I immediately called Matt's in the Market
(yes, the number is in my phone). Reservation at 7:30. Perfect. See you then. I LOVE sitting at the bar at Matt's. After the foie and octopus (nope, still don't like it) the shared order of short ribs arrived and was delicious. So delicious that I emphatically told the waiter that they were superior to the ones at Crush. In hindsight this was technically a lie because they weren't as rich which consequently just meant I could consume more. It's more likely that the compliment was an attempt to flatter the waiter, or even more likely the chef. Turns out I may have a bit of a thing for chefs...Desert? No Thanks. I'll take Port though (read: TIME FOR MCCLOUD TO GO HOME). Is this why people have boyfriends?! So that someone takes you home before you suggest going to another watering hole?
So, I suggest going to another watering hole. We walk in the rain, it's great. He loves the spot. Turns out I find it immensely gratifying when people like the establishments I frequent. The bartender is lovely and I continue on with the wine...
In good news I made my way home and had the typical post-outing dance party. In better news, I welcome FLMH to the blog (I initially wrote bog, LOL) as she made me nearly pee my bed when I finally crawled into it last night.
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