June 2, 1986
My first date with Maris was tonight. It was interesting. She isn't the most loquacious person in the world. But then, I don't think I'd want that. Reticence is far more tolerable than endless palaver. I supplied most of the talking, which makes me worry that she will think I was monopolizing the conversation. Perhaps I should have kept quiet and allowed us to enjoy our meal in peace.
She's a funny little eater. She's not quite anorexic, but she doesn't have far to go. She chose the most expensive wine on the menu, but only took three or four sips, explaining that wine is too highly caloric. For her meal itself she ordered the consomme brunoise, to eat perhaps an eighth of the bowl; between each spoonful she would stir it counterclockwise exactly four times. When I suggested that she sample my dish, the coulibiac of salmon, which was exquisite, she stared at me for a very, very long time, without saying a word... When it came time for dessert, her taste for confections equally delicious and expensive came clear: the wondrous concoction of chocolate and cream and pastry which she ordered cost me twenty-four dollars. However, she didn't take a bite of it. She simply inhaled the fragrance for several minutes, and then sent it back. When I suggested that we take it home, she told me she wouldn't eat it; when I suggested, laughing timidly, that I would, she said simply, "I thought this was my dessert." It was sent back.
When we were leaving, however, she said, "I assume you'll pick me up at the same time next week?" I said yes. For all her foibles, there's something about the woman...
My first date with Maris was tonight. It was interesting. She isn't the most loquacious person in the world. But then, I don't think I'd want that. Reticence is far more tolerable than endless palaver. I supplied most of the talking, which makes me worry that she will think I was monopolizing the conversation. Perhaps I should have kept quiet and allowed us to enjoy our meal in peace.
She's a funny little eater. She's not quite anorexic, but she doesn't have far to go. She chose the most expensive wine on the menu, but only took three or four sips, explaining that wine is too highly caloric. For her meal itself she ordered the consomme brunoise, to eat perhaps an eighth of the bowl; between each spoonful she would stir it counterclockwise exactly four times. When I suggested that she sample my dish, the coulibiac of salmon, which was exquisite, she stared at me for a very, very long time, without saying a word... When it came time for dessert, her taste for confections equally delicious and expensive came clear: the wondrous concoction of chocolate and cream and pastry which she ordered cost me twenty-four dollars. However, she didn't take a bite of it. She simply inhaled the fragrance for several minutes, and then sent it back. When I suggested that we take it home, she told me she wouldn't eat it; when I suggested, laughing timidly, that I would, she said simply, "I thought this was my dessert." It was sent back.
When we were leaving, however, she said, "I assume you'll pick me up at the same time next week?" I said yes. For all her foibles, there's something about the woman...