As I’m acting the part of Carrie Bradshaw á la SATC, English is what follows.
So. I had a date. With a priest. Or actually, a priest in the making, but that doesn’t sound quite as fun, now does it?
I met this priest at a Halloween party. I did have a really good time that night, even though there was no alcohol consumption going on. It could also be because I had an entire bottle of wine before even getting there…
Now. Once on the tipsy side, I can get quite spiritual. And boy, was I just. We talked about death, the possible Mr Big Stuff and then he told me what he wanted to name his kids. For some reason, I never mentioned the fact that I consider myself an atheist (well, on the good days), that I’m gay or that my main interests in life are sex, vanity and alcohol. Can’t imagine why either. He talked me into giving him my cell number and after finishing off our conversation with quoting me the Big Book, I never thought to hear from him again.
Until he texted the next day. This was when I felt the need to be honest. Not “I’m really a slut lesbian who loves to drink and just needs closure” kind of honest, but more of “I might just not be what you expect” honest. He answered. His attentions were not at all to convert me, as he so eloquently put it, and hopefully referring to the religious way of doing so, but just to talk, since he had enjoyed it the last time. I accepted, but caught a cold, so we postponed it. Until today. He called me yesterday and we decided on having lunch.
I really had no idea what to expect and I still don’t, since I got stood up. Yeah, you heard me. I got stood up by a priest. Honestly? Seriously? Stood up by a priest? Surely, that must be one hell of a paradox. I did text him after about 6 minutes and to not sound too much as if I was standing there waiting (which I of course was, I mean, what else was I supposed to do?), wrote “I must suffer from bad karma, right?” He didn’t answer. 10 minutes had passed and nothing, so I left. Oh, the irony, seeing as it wasn’t even a date to begin with (though I doubt he knew that).
While on the phone with a friend (who obviously found the whole thing very amusing), he finally answered, over 30 minutes later, that he “got stuck doing something.” Her immediate reaction was that he was entertaining his Mr Big Stuff. You know, God. Not his lower regions. And that maybe he didn’t want to tell me that in case I got weirded out. I’d say it’s a bit late for that. But anyhow. He apologized, I explained I had now moved on (from the spot, but also most likely from the part of me who ever considered going on this date) and he promised to be in touch.
So, what now? Do I swallow my pride and give Mr Priest the benefit of the doubt? Or do I leave him at peace with his Big Stuff (pun oh so intended)?
Well, no matter and on the whole, I can tell a story…