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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter

“Ok. Where are we?” Cool-guy asked.

“San Francisco.” I said, absentmindedly.

“No. Honey. I meant. Where are we on the map?”

He was driving raucously while trying to read the map and figure out street signs. Yeah. I know. Quite a feat. We were in San Francisco for the weekend where he had to attend a food show.

“We’re near the O’shenie Funeral Home. Hey. Nice place. Look at that lawn.”

“Geary. We need Geary Street.” He said.

“Ok. I know where we are!” And I did. How exciting. “I’ve been here before. Really. I have!”

“Great. I’m glad. But do you know where the hotel is? That’s what we’re looking for right now.”

“No. But Macy’s is coming up on your left.”

“Help me find Geary Street.”

“Ok. Now we’re in a construction zone.” I said. “Surely that’s on your map?”

“Honey. I’m starting to wonder how long your relationships last.”

I laughed. “Lunch dates about thirty minutes. Dinner dates slightly longer.”

“No. The whole relationship. I bet they don’t last longer than three months. No man could put up with more than that. Aren’t we reaching that point about now?”

“Sweetie. Don’t you think it’s great that opposites attract?”

“Do we attract?” He asked, swerving around a double parked car while flipping the map over.

“You know what I mean. The way you fully understand that I don’t have any sense of direction and that I can’t read a map. And. You’re my opposite. You CAN read a map really well. Even while driving a car. Aren’t relationships strange?”

“Yes. Strange.” He said as he pulled up in front of our hotel.

“You found our hotel?” I asked. “How could you? We never found Geary Street.”

“We weren’t looking for Geary Street. I was messing with you.”

“Messing with me?”

He laughed. “Geary Street was the OTHER way.”

I reached over to pinch him.

He lowered his voice and said slowly. “NO PINCHING.”

I lowered my voice. “No provoking.”

The door man approached as I was fighting to get a pinch in. Yeah. Pinching is never the same when there’s another man watching.

We rushed out to try a restaurant that his good friend, Chris had recommended. I don’t know. But. It was supposed to be the Indian food to end all Indian food.

I used the menu to try to scrap the dirt from the table cloth while we waited for our food to arrive.

“It might be slightly un-clean, but the food is supposed to be great.”

“Slightly?” I asked, rubbing the dirt on the floor into little designs.

“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait. Chris knows Indian food.”

“This delightful music was worth the trip.” I said, sarcastically. “If the ambiance they were striving for was unsettling, they could win awards.”

“The yogurt dressing has been sitting out on the table all day.” Cool-guy worried. “Don’t eat any.”

“Do you think it’s ok to eat anything here?”

Our food arrived via a waiter who wasn’t happy or sad. He just was. He dropped the platters of food that was swimming in oil onto our table.

I looked, hungrily at our food. “Hey. You sure Chris likes you?”

“Yeah. Good friend. Way back.”

“So. You haven’t had an argument?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Um. Does he LIKE Indian food?”

“Loves it.”

“Well. I think he’s sending you very strong smoke signals. He doesn’t want to recommend restaurants any more.”

“The okra’s good, in an oily kind of way.”

I used my napkin to soak up some of the excess oil. It left bits of paper in my food. The lamb was a bit better, but salty. “Can we have an early dinner?”

“Yes.” He laughed.

“Or maybe we can eat peanuts in the room. Or I think I brought some protein bars with me.”

The waiter came back and dropped a bowl of rice on the table. I couldn’t have been happier.

“Honey. This is the fluffiest, whitest rice I’ve ever seen in my life.” I spooned some on my plate.

He pulled the rice in front of him and started eating directly out of the bowl.

“Um. Um. Aren’t you sharing?” I asked, suggestively.

“Nope.”

I leaned over preparing to pinch.

He lowered his voice. “No pinching.”

I dropped my voice a whole octave lower than his. “Share that rice.”

The waiter came back and dropped another bowl of rice on the table. He nodded to Cool-guy before he left.

I pulled the rice in front of me. “Have you noticed that men are always saving you from getting pinched?”

“Yes.” He said, swapping rice bowls since mine had more. “We men stick together.”

“Yeah. That’s great, honey.” I said. “But. It might be easier if you were nicer to me. You know. Don’t mess with me so much.” I joked. “Cause. There might not always be some nice man around to save you.”

“Nah.” He laughed, pulling my rice dish towards him. “I’ll take my chances.”

Wanna try another column? How about #145 Two Thanksgivings, which is about cooking for a crowd.

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