Everyone said she was gorgeous. She was. And she had said yes when I asked her out.
I took the Greyhound home from university to borrow my mom's convertible. I made dinner reservations at The Steak Loft. After carefully selecting my wardrobe, I picked Jacqueline up outside the women's residence. She looked . . . gorgeous. She was tall and slim; she had shoulder-length chestnut hair. Coppery chestnut. She had killer eyes. I opened the car door for her, she flashed me a smile, we were off. Fall was in the air; spring was in my heart.
When I parked at The Bay parkade, I stepped out of the car. Jacqueline did not. What? Click. She was waiting. She was waiting for me to walk around and open her door. I had already done that once. I paused. I hesitated. I thought. She outpausedhesitatedthought me.
I walked around and opened her door. It was a downhill slide from there. We did a little browsing in The Bay - women's clothing, purses, shoes, fragrances. We strolled to The Steak Loft. Over dinner I asked her about herself. At no time did she say, Well, enough about me; let's talk about you. The high school-aged waiter corrected my pronunciation of Sauvignon. Steak - delicious, dessert - magnificent, bill - obscene, connection - non-existent.
I sort of heard a little voice say, Jock, there's a lesson here.