I consider myself a pretty open-minded person, but I can’t force myself to like a guy. I’ve never been able to flip my hair at the sight of just any man; I’m just not that kind of flirt! So when Mr. Gringo and I went on our first date I felt like an anxiety attack coming on.
I wrestled myself out of bed and met him at Lilies. I walked in and saw him standing there—charcoal coat, long scarf and Stella in hand. He looked older than I remembered and not so cute, but I stuck around and I strolled over to him with a smile.
We greeted each other on the cheek and conversed about superficial stuff for a while. He did most of the asking and I most of the talking. But I didn’t mind, the only question on my mind was his astrological sign and how old he was, cause well, he looked too old for me, honestly.
Soon, he mentioned our mutual friend’s birthday party. “How old will he be again?” I asked nonchalantly, figuring it would be an way to segway into a conversation about El Gringo's age.
That’s when Mr. Gringo dropped la bomba. “He’s just a year older than me.” My eyes widened, I may not be good at math but I didn’t have to calculate his age. Mr. Gringo was 40.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m going to be 32 in April,” I replied.
“Aries? So am I. I’ll be—“
“41,” I replied, cutting him off. He nodded, clearly understanding that I was uncomfortable about our age gap. The night ended soon after. After a few more drinks, he walked me to the train. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a smile. No number. No chemistry. No prospects. It didn’t matter how open minded I was, I just wasn’t that into him.