Monday is Not Friday, Even to Profane, Onion-Eating Lunatics

I got a phone call on the way in the door Monday night. It was this guy I met recently through friends. We hadn't talked for long when we met but he seemed interesting and he's cute and has a lovely voice, so when he asked for my number, I gave it to him.

So I answered the phone, although I didn't really have time to talk, because I was meeting my new/old friend M for dinner.

I was running late, rushing around, and after two minutes of our conversation, which was about our weekends and about his Sunday football watching, (which I tend to sound kind of enthusiastic about, because while I think football is dreadful, I quite like these big, American, football-watching guys) I knocked over and broke a bottle of my favorite perfume all over my bathroom floor.

And bellowed, "Fuck!" Goddammit!" Straight into his ear.

Because profanity? Loud profanity? Out of nowhere? That always impresses men. Plus giving the impression that I have Turrets probably lends me an air of mystery.

"Oh, excuse me. I just broke a bottle of perfume all over my floor."

"Oh, no! Well, if you were going out," he said, "you could just use some."

"I am going out. I did briefly consider rolling in it. But for the broken glass."

"You're going out? Oh, right, it's Monday. To watch football?"

"Football? God, no! And they don't make it anymore."

"What?"

"Mania. I mean, they make a new one but I don't like it."

"So you don't watch football."

"No, but I'm perfectly happy to encourage others to do so. I think you should."

So I cleaned up the glass while we chatted, and then he proceeded (while sounding a little nervous, which I thought was very cute) to ask me what my week is like and if I have any time.

"Time?"

I was so discombobulated.

I was thinking, oh, I love this perfume, and they don't make it anymore, and where am I going to get more and how am I going to get it out of the walls? And oh my god my legs smell like Mania and I wonder if they still will after I put my boots on. . . And damn there's broken glass all over the floor and oh, I love this perfume. . . And when I get off the phone I'll need to vacuum. Damn!

You get the picture. Thinking in 50 directions that had nothing to do with my conversation.

"Time? Well, I have time Friday."

And then I realized. "But Friday is the weekend!"

"Well, yes."

I said, "Friday is. On the weekend. Friday. Is. Well. Such a funny day to see someone you don't know. Which we don't. Know. Each other. So maybe not Friday? With the not knowing. Because I also have time Monday! Monday is not Friday."

Yeah, I'm that graceful.

He sort of chuckled. Sort of. "Are you saying you don't want to waste a weekend night on a stranger?"

"Oh, no, just well, because you never know on Friday. You might rather be doing your laundry or something."

What? Why on earth?

And so he said he didn't know what he was doing Friday and could we just talk later in the week?

I'm sure he hung up and was like, "Lunatic!"

When really I could have told him, "No, it's Mania!"

They make a new Mania but it is sweet and I like the old one. Every perfume I ever really like they stop making. Armani has done this to me twice now. It is further proof that the rest of the world and I don't see eye to eye. Or nose to nose.

And then I realized that I did smell like I'd been rolling around in it. And one thing I did remember about M, besides his grandmother, is that he has this really sensitive nose. Which I do not.

I remember we'd gone to see a movie at the last minute. I don't remember the movie. But I do remember that I'd had an onion and tomato salad for dinner. Seriously. One. Large. Onion. And tomato. Probably with some salt. Because when I was 23, I still didn't eat much of anything that really had calories. Like food.

We were sitting next to each other, and his nose started twitching. And he said, "Have you been eating onion?"

He didn't even want to sit next to me, it was so strong. All I could do was laugh. I did. I laughed really hard.

I have been impressing men with my grace for years. Years.