Fine Dining

Picture this. The perfect three course meal. A bowl of juicy salt and pepper squid with a side of your favourite dipping sauce followed by a plate of creamy gnocchi and topped off with a bowl of tiramisu so soft and moist you momentarily escape into your own personal nirvana. Now imagine if you were given the choice of eating gourmet meals everyday for the rest of your life, would you take it?

It was your typical clubbing scene. Women looking like bronze goddesses and men looking like something out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. At least that was the view from one end of the spectrum. On the other hand, there were women wearing heels so high I was pretty sure it could’ve constituted as lethal weapons, accompanied by men dipped in so much cologne their scent reached you 5 minutes before they did.

The music was loud and the atmosphere chaotic, just the way I preferred it. It was the end of the semester and I was in no mood to go easy that night. My history with tequila wasn’t the best, but when your friend insisted on buying rounds, who was I to stand in the way of a good Samaritan .

It was around 1am when my bladder decided to go on a strike, forcing me to go to the toilets.

As I stared into the mirror miserably trying to fix my panda eyes, I heard an odd sound. Now trust me when I say I have seen and heard some weird shit in my life, but this sounded like the cry of a baby seal. So in my drunken state, my mind immediately switched into Sherlock Holmes mode as I carefully treaded around the corner to find a girl hunched over the sink sobbing.

I guess growing up as an only child I automatically assumed the role of an older sister every-time I saw someone younger than me. Whilst other girls loaded their clutch bags with lip-gloss and powered foundation, I usually packed a mini first-aid kit in mine, with products ranging from tissues to Band-Aids. I held out a Kleenex in hopes of initiating a conversation. Now I know at this point you are probably thinking my behavior is a bit pedophilic, but I don’t know what it was about this girl that made me want to listen. Was it because with every sob she looked like she was going to break or was it because her shoulders trembled as they struggled to balance the weight of her pain?

I don’t know.

I asked her again if she was okay, to which she laughed feebly and tried to brush it off, but with 4 tequila shots in me I was determined to play the role of a school counsellor. I could be pretty persuasive when I needed to be. She told me that she liked this guy, ‘like really like him’, but her friends kept telling her she should play the field just to make sure. According to some online dating website no one dated seriously when you were 18, she made sure to emphasize by patting me sympathetically like I was some old ass dinosaur about to go extinct sometime soon.

I don’t know if it was the Usher song in the background or the disturbing use of mood lighting in the bathrooms, but I felt the need to offer my two cents. Someone really close to me once told me that finding your ideal partner was like fine dining. Every day you were either presented with the opportunity of having a romantic candlelit dinner or eating Chinese takeout in a pair of comfortable sweats. Either way being with that person allowed you to find a small sense of sanity, when everything around you failed to make sense.  It could be that you found that person at a ridiculously young age and miraculously made it through all those drastic teenage years or when you were fifty plus and traveling the world with your retirement money.

So I explained this analogy to her, making it a point so as to not slur my words of wisdom and left her to ponder on that thought. To be honest, in my drunken state I was sure I had delivered my message loud and clear. However as I got up and headed for the door, I decided to throw a quick glance over my shoulder and found her looking more confused than ever.  So I waddled back as gracefully as I could in my ridiculously high heels, grabbed her by the shoulders and gave it to her straight.

If this guy made her happy and was willing to binge watch Sex and the City episodes with her, then he was a keeper. It didn’t matter if their relationship lasted two years of even two weeks, if he was capable of turning her evening into a fine dining experience, then he was worth it.

I watched as a light bulb finally lit up above her head as she walked out of the bathrooms with a cheesy smile plastered on her face. To this day I don’t know if my weird analogy made an impact on her, after all teenagers can be pretty unpredictable.

However by the end of that story I knew one thing for sure, if I didn’t go to the bathroom at that very moment, people around me would’ve witnessed Australia’s very own Niagara Falls.

Published by The Strategic Chaos

What happens when you mix an engineering major with a creative mindset who's always getting herself into awkward situations? The strategic chaos is born. It's what a love child between Mindy Kaling and Mark Cuban would look like. With Kevin Hart as side piece.

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