CAN'T WE BE FRIENDS?

I thought I'd found the girl of my dreams
Now it seems, this is how the story ends
She's going to turn me down and say
Can't we be friends

No worse feeling than when you lean in for a kiss and find yourself kissing air.

She'd turned her fresh looking cheek to me just as I wrongly anticipated our first smooch then pretended to search for something in her handbag. She was searching for so long I thought she might have found the secret to the universe in there or God or something. I don't know.

I gotta be honest with you, I'm kinda crushed.

Humiliated by her deft parry of my advance, I quickly looked toward the waiter so I could grab the bill as way of deflecting my hurt feelings. The way that latin looking shit bag looked at me in my defeated state though made me feel ten times worse. He'd even had the audacity to flirt with my date earlier in the evening while we procrastinated over what we were ordering for our starters and mains. We didn't even make it to dessert. The guy is clearly a natural born Casanova and he damn well knows it. Fucker. I first noticed by the way he moved like a slithering tango dancer toward our table that he liked her. Almost balletically predatory he was.

Anyway, I digress. What was I saying? Oh yeah. Dessert.

Yeah, sadly we didn't even make it to dessert. That's when I knew something was up. Dessert is usually a sign things are headed in the right direction on a date. I've heard of tiramsus leading to near instant proposals of marriage. I'm not even joking. But no. Sweets were off the menu so the evening turned quickly sour. Venetia didn't even want the Irish coffee I tried to tempt her with. I guess I'm losing my touch lately. Dates make me nervous. Feels like I'm applying for a job above my pay grade. Well, she is above my pay grade. I'm punching well above my weight here and Casanova lover boy in the corner there knows it, too. He no doubt thinks he's champion of the world and womankind and he's probably is.

He's probably got a giant schlong as well.

I know what's coming. Those fateful words - can't we be friends? In the brief time I have between leaving the restaurant and calling her a cab I wonder frantically if there's anything I can do to salvage this situation and turn it around. It would be like hitting a final home run and winning the world series all at once.

You can probably tell by now that I really like her. No. Scrap that. I love her. No, I really do. She is possibly the most beautiful, most intelligent woman I've ever had the good fortune to be in the company with. The crazy thing is I genuinely felt like I had a chance at the start of the evening but that was then and this is now. As far I can see it's one minute to midnight on the doomsday clock of our first and possibly only date.

Sometimes you can see the attraction ebbing away in their eyes, like no matter how cool, smart and handsome you think you are, they're just not buying what you're selling any longer. For awhile she gave me the sincere impression she really dug all the stuff I was saying even if I knew deep down a lot of what I was saying was kind of bullshit. But at some point I lost her, probably around the time I started talking about my dreams and plans for the future.

Okay, give me one moment. It's my last throw of the dice.

"You sure you don't want to go to a bar or club before the night's out? I would love to take you to this jazz place I always go to. It's called Benny's."

Just saying the word Benny's seem to hang in the air in a way I didn't like. It sounded like failure. I saw her face visibly tighten as she looked for the quickest way out of my obvious infatuation with her.

I closed my eyes like I was facing a firing squad knowing exactly what was coming next.

It wasn't bullets she was about to fire though, but that immortal hackenyed phrase. Yeah, you all know the one.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I like you. I like you a lot, but can't we just be friends?"

By the time I opened my eyes she'd hailed a yellow cab all by herself and left me little time to say whether I was happy to be friend-zoned or not.

"How about we give it another shot on romantic terms before we go for the friendship type of deal," I pleaded.

And then, like a cold hearted assassin, she left me with ...

"Goodnight, Jack."

Just those two words broke my heart like a bread stick being snapped.

And all I could see in my mind's eye was 'Mr Loverboy' back at the restaurant laughing at my misfortune.

Who knows, they probably exchanged numbers when I was choosing what to eat off the menu.

Anyway, it's a moot point now.

I guess I'll go to Benny's and drown myself in a glass of rum.