Pool Shark

Like I said, I decided to pull the plug on Luigi. It's funny how once you decide to give up on one thing, something new always seems to pop up. It makes you realize just how much you don't need the fuckwit disappearing act.

I was at one of my three jobs yesterday when the Pool Boy walked into the shop. I had run into him the afternoon before, on my way home. He asked if I was working the next day. I said I was, and he said he'd stop by to say hello. And here he was, 10 minutes into my shift. Stopping in to say hi. He asked if I'd be in the student union that evening. I told him I would, because I needed to learn how to play pool. He said he could help out with that. Then I told him about my secret ambition to be a pool hustler. I don't know why I've always wanted to do this, but I have always wanted to pretend like I'm terrible at it, then play people for money and kick their ass. His response to this was, "Yeah, with that smile you could probably pull that off."

Oh, ok, I thought. This guy is flirting with me. I can do that! No, I NEED to do that. I need to let this cute man teach me how to play pool. My brain needs to know that Luigi is not the only single man in London. This is the perfect way to figure that out.

I have never learned how to play pool. My grandma had a bumper pool table in her basement, but mostly Grayer and I would just try to get the balls in the pocket by rolling them with our hands and playing with the cue chalk, but never really playing properly. Instead, we played Cinderella, the world's least imaginative board game (pick up the evil stepmother card? Move back 3 spaces. The Fairy Godmother card? Forward 2 spaces, and so on), and the original Game of Life (Wow! You can make up to $15,000 a year!- IF you're a doctor). And since I hate to be bad at things that are ever shown on ESPN, I stayed away from pool. But now I headed to the student union, prepared to be schooled in the game of billiards.

We played about 8 games of pool. It turns out I'm not that terrible, but I'm not that great either. I made some nearly impossible shots, but I also missed some really, really easy shots, and I definitely experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat simultaneously when I sunk the 8-ball but the white ball followed it into the pocket to lose the game. The Pool Boy, my teammate for that round, didn't seem to mind too much.

There was flirting and unnecessary touching. He practiced his American accent (not bad, but definitely sounds like an Englishman trying to sound American) and I practiced my English one (not bad, but definitely sounds like an American, trying to be English). At the end of the evening, he walked me to the tube station after giving me a free mug from his office. He kissed me on both cheeks (as you do in Europe) and said, "So, I'm going to be in Stockholm for the next week (which I knew about thanks to the evening's conversation), but maybe when I get back we can go grab a bagel or something?"

A bagel?! Really, a bagel? A drink, maybe, or even dessert or a coffee, but a bagel?! Also, where the hell in London can you get a good bagel? Because honestly, I would really like to know the answer to that question.

So I, Queen of Tact, said, "A bagel?! Really? What happened to sticky toffee pudding?" (I should explain here that earlier in the evening, he told me he would take me out for sticky toffee pudding, since I've never had it.)  "Or we could do that," he said, "or a drink or whatever..." So of course I said we could do that, and he asked if he could get my number and I gave it to him.

I still can't figure out the bagel thing. Has anyone ever been asked out on a bagel date? The only explanation I can come up with is that bagels are an American thing, and maybe he thought "She's American, she must love bagels!" And I do, I really do love bagels, and the bagels at the grocery store are a bit shit, but I can't help but think that this might be the first time that someone has said to a member of the opposite sex, "Hey, let's go grab a bagel together sometime."

And you know what? Maybe we never will grab a bagel sometime. The point is that this is a single, attractive man who's not Italian and not named Luigi, and at least last night seemed to like me. That is what is important here.