“I really liked the dog from your Tinder profile,” I said to him, looking gingerly around at the baggage he had decided to bring to our date. It’s a first date. Usually people leave their issues — and things — at home for those. He couldn’t.
“Oh, you won’t believe it,” he laughed, setting his guitar down on the cobbled step below us.
“I took him from a beach in Portugal. So cute, isn’t he?”
“You just… took him?” I get a shrug in turn.
“He looked so sad.”
After having unsuccessfully dated a starving-artist type for a month and a half, I considered returning to the dating scene. It was a situation-ship that left me rubbed raw and reeling. Fortunately — although I was in Florence and only spoke the language up to a lower-intermediate level — there was no shortage of matches on Tinder for me.
As luck would — or wouldn’t — have it, a date was about to show up in my life right at the cut-scene of said situation-ship. To deal with my heartache in the meanwhile, I sought the comfort of a friend. Y’know, like any romantic lead in a rom-com would. My friend Josie* and I visited the horticulture garden with some bottles of wine, a charcuterie board full of different cheeses, cold cuts, and some cake.
After all, what can’t be cured by some wine and cake? So, met in our summer clothes — her in shorts and a button-down, I in my white-and-cherry sundress. We sat on a large mat, unscrewing our wine, and slicing up our cheese.
A few trees away was the next romantic lead. Meet Luca*, a blonde adonis-type with blue-ish eyes and a deep tan. Look at him now, a blond Jesus tightrope-walking with his friend, guitar strewn across their blanket in reckless abandon.
So, he has a nice dog, some hobbies, and plays guitar. That’s not so bad.