Third time’s a charm

February 21, 2014 § 7 Comments

I may have made a decision on a silly basis yesterday. So, I wasn’t going to see Italian Spielberg again after our last encounter, but he managed to entice me…with gifts. I was curious, so sue me.

We met at a bar near to my place, I was determined to make as little effort as possible, although I tried my best to retain an open mind, hoping he’d sway my opinion back in his favour again. The meeting was slightly awkward, in that I’d shown up in the jeans and T-shirt I’d been wearing all day, and he was in a suit. Woops. His own fault really.

It was then he told me he’d forgotten the gift, which didn’t really bother me to be honest, just made me wonder why on earth I’d decided it was a good idea to see him again, with all his groping and odd remarks. He kept doing this thing where he’d make me kiss him on the cheek? (I don’t want to kiss your fucking cheek, stop asking me to.) You could certainly tell he had the ego the size of South Wales, as he continually asked me if I thought he was good looking, and to tell him things I liked about him etc. and I’m far too much of a people-pleaser to have been brutally honest, though I probably should’ve done at this point.

It wasn’t all horrendous. He played this game where he ordered two glasses of wine, one the epitome of Italian produce and the other a cheap one from Naples, and made me guess which was worth more. I quite enjoyed this little diversion, although was caught out by choosing the completely wrong one. I blame those school years of drinking the cheapest crud on the market for sullying my pallet (it’s my dirty little secret, I’m not really cultured at all, I just like people to think I am). After our drinks, he pulled out a bag and said, “Oh, maybe I didn’t forget it after all”. Not sure what he was doing, but I felt incredibly toyed with, like the evening was a test to see if I deserved some cheap reward. Even so, I’d come this far, I wasn’t about to give up my free shit.

There were three gifts in total:

The first was a best-selling Italian book on music. Actually very much appreciated, it’s slightly perfect (annoyingly). But then he went and spoiled it by writing a long amorous passage to me in the front cover, while I was sitting there. I had to pretend to be pleased about this…

The second gift was a mask from Venice, where he’d been working a week before. The carnival is coming up and one must have a mask. Also not displeased about this one.

The third I didn’t open at the time, but it looked suspiciously like a jewellery box. I have fairly specific taste when it comes to jewellery, and after the wine I wasn’t up for faking a look of happy surprise. A good decision as it turns out.

This might not seem like a bad haul, and although I’m not brilliant at accepting gifts, I can’t say I was too upset. However. After each of the presents, which he revealed about 20 minutes apart from each other, he’d lean forward and whisper, “so how are you going to thank me for this one?”

I have honestly never felt more like a prostitute in my life. A man has never tried to buy my affection before and I think it’s so disgusting. Suppressing my gag reflex for an entire evening is not my idea of a good night (well, in most circumstances…).

As soon as it was socially acceptable, I abruptly ended the evening, thanked him for my gifts and scurried home. The part of me that hates conflict was desperately hoping that he’d have read the signals and I wouldn’t have to see him again, but alas, I had a text waiting for me when I got home asking whether I liked the necklace (I didn’t). I ignored this, and took the shower I was in desperate need of after spending time with this delightful creature, only emerging to find multiple other texts repeating the question. For fuck’s sake. I left it for the evening, but awoke to more messages, so finally replied in the nicest way possible that I didn’t want to see him again. I received a torrent of abuse in reply, only heightened by the poor use of the English language. He finished the discussion (if you can call it that, my input was minimal) by saying, and I quote:

“im not the problem. It is inside u. Connected to your age and your nationality ;)”

Well that clears that up then. Clearly if I was a 30 year old Albanian woman none of this would have been an issue. Cheers for the gifts, but I think I’ll stick with the expats for a while. You’ve single-handedly managed to turn me off Italian men.



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