Chapter 11 - Te Amo
Did you ever boil an egg at Easter and paint it? Well we did, in my family. I remember my dad making a full family of egg-heads. He had spent hours (probably) painstakingly hand painting each egg, and then we would smash them (roll them) into the ground. I’m sure somewhere in there is a religious association of a tombstone being rolled away … to me it was just an egg, and an opportunity to throw something as hard as I could. Somewhere my mother has this on film. Believe me, it’ll never be a box office hit.
Spanish Dan kind of reminded me of an egg. I just mean in his appearance; he was bald with a very particular beard. You know the type; it’s not really a beard, it’s more of a line of hair, which looks like it’s been drawn on with a permanent black marker pen. I’ll never understand this part of the male psyche, and I can only assume that they think it looks good. To me, it just looks like someone has drawn on their face with a permanent marker pen! Each to their own, though, and who’s to say it’s not attractive. I’m no super model after all, so the whole “looks” thing isn’t my main concern.
When I first started talking to Dan he seemed really nice. He told me he was originally from London, though of Spanish descent, and had only moved north of the border about a year ago. He worked in finance in the city, and didn’t really know anyone, so was looking to take it easy, as far as dating was concerned. Dan had two kids whom he saw every weekend, and because I was now trying new things (having already dated and lived with someone who had a kid previously; disaster), I was making a real effort not to tar all men “with the same brush”. Dan suggested that we spoke on the phone, as he preferred to get a feel for someone by speaking to them, and I agreed. The phone rang immediately! Eeek!
Dan, as it turned out, was a proper cockney! Apples n pears, aw-rite guvna, and all that jazz. If you thought Peggy Butcher in Eastenders was cockney, you 'ain’t ‘eard nuffin yet mate!'. The thing was he was also a Spaniard. He spoke fluent Spanish, and oh my goodness, when he proved to me he was fluent in Spanish, I turned into a quivering wreck!
Suddenly, Dan became all that more attractive. The fact that he was bi-lingual was a massive plus, in my book. He spilled all the tragic beans regarding the breakdown of the relationship between himself and the mother of his children, and I found myself reciprocating by spilling the beans of my tragic past. What the hell was I doing?! This was dating “no go” area. Nee Naw Nee Naw. NEVER talk about your ex, but Dan didn’t seem to mind. He was gentle, sympathetic, and really caring. Believe me when I tell you that my bullshit radar is now pretty switched on, and there was no hint of it as far as Dan was concerned.
I really, really wanted to fancy Dan. He had me in stitches; he did a wonderful impression of the “Juan sheet” advert for kitchen roll, and he was a genuinely nice guy. He listened to what I had to say, and told me how much he appreciated my spirit and zest for life. He wanted to meet me, but said that if there was no spark between us, he didn’t mind. He just thought I was pretty special, and I was flattered.
When I met Dan, he looked exactly like his picture. He acted exactly like the lovely guy I had spoken to on the phone, and he had the same sense of humour that had me in stitches. He spoke Spanish to me, and…. Nothing! Not a butterfly in sight! I was gutted. Maybe it was first date nerves, but the more I looked into his searching eyes, the more I knew the passion just wasn’t there.
I spent a good few hours with Dan; we went for tea/ coffee and chatted for ages. Then we walked about, and had lunch together. I really liked him, but I just didn’t fancy him. When we were saying our goodbyes, Dan said he would really like to see me again, but he knew that he didn’t float my boat. Gaaaah! Way to make a girl feel even worse. I said I would like to meet him again too, and I was a slow burner. He said he knew that, that I had been hurt in the past, and he didn’t hold it against me if we didn’t “click”. It was just one of those things. I wanted to cry.
Dan and I continued to keep in touch; he emailed me the works, telling me how he really liked me and my outlook on life, but he knew that he wasn’t what I was looking for. I didn’t lie to Dan; I agreed with what he said and expressed my interest in meeting him again, but for his own reasons, he declined. I don’t blame him; I know what it feels like to be in that situation. I didn’t see Dan again; he was one of the good guys, and he got away, but I’m sure that he’ll be making some other lucky woman very happy. It just wasn’t meant to be me.