Hot Date

Tonight I was taken out to one of my favourite restaurants in Princeton, cajoled into drinking two glasses of chianti, and then squired to ice-cream at another local franchise. What with the wine, thoughtful invitation, and "celebrate you being the beguiling creature you are!" atmosphere, I blushed a lot. It was one of the nicest dinner dates I've had in a while. Too bad the person brushing my knees and toasting me was a fellow sheepish feminist. It's like that short story by Paul Gallico, in which he sets up this elaborate domestic scene between a male and a female character -- only at the end it turns out they're two cats. We didn't quite purr together when I got home - next time, for sure - but she did let me kiss her and take a polaroid to add to my "unexpected evenings" collection. Whereupon I said "goodnight, Carrie dearest," and shamelessly swaggered the three feet to my bedroom.