Dancing on the Ceiling

There were many years when I took a ski trip with about 50 people.  I typically signed up knowing a handful of people and by the end, we were all fast friends.

Well, this trip was a little bit different.  Two days before I leave, I fall and break my wrist.  It was a bad break where surgery was required.  My doctor didn’t want me to go on the trip at all but I talked him into letting me go (provided I didn’t ski) and have surgery the day I get back.  Sounds like a plan to me; I don’t mind being the lodge girl.

We met quite a few people on the trip and everyone really felt sorry for me due to my arm.  I had a cast on from my fingers to my shoulder and the basic things were very difficult.

I end up having surgery when I returned and there is a card overnighted to me wishing me luck. Unfortunately, I can’t remember who the guy is?  But, it was someone from the trip, that much I knew.  I called my friend who was with me and we collectively figure it out. 

Of course, I am a little sappy as I was just under the knife, but I thought it was sweet.

The day I return to work this guy is calling me at the office.  I didn’t even give him my number, he lifted it off our master phone list, just like the address. 

He says Sue, it must be difficult to make dinner with your arm, how about if I drop some off for you?  I say, my difficulties making dinner came way before I broke my arm, don’t worry, I can still shovel in the cereal. 

He says, no, I insist, I want to drop something off for you.  Thinking I was being unnecessarily difficult, I agree.

Well, he changes the game on me.  He then calls and says why don’t I just make something at your house?  I said, if you think my place is stocked with food, you are sadly mistaken, I can barely carry work home let alone groceries.

He said, it is settled then, you will come to my house.  Once again, I said, this is appreciated but really isn’t necessary, he said, I want to do it.  Hesitantly, I agree.

The day comes where I am supposed to have dinner.  I was tempted to have my assistant call him and say something was wrong with my arm (because I didn’t want to go) but figured that was bad karma.

We get to his place and he starts by introducing me to the doorman.  I am thinking, why is he doing this?  I’ll never see this guy again?  Obviously, he had other plans.

As we walk into his condo, it was spotless.  I commented that I was surprised to see he didn’t even have a piece of mail lying around.  He proceeds to tell me he cleaned for me and even went to get a haircut.  Adorable.

Now, I get a tour of his place and then we end up sitting in his living room.  He lives on a high-floor so he doesn’t even turn any lights on, he let the city lights shine in.  I think he was trying to create a mood.

Fortunately, it was time for dinner.

Prior to heading to the kitchen, he asks me what type of music I would like to listen to during dinner.  I said, I’m up for anything (not knowing what his taste was and not wanting to say something he doesn’t have).  Much to my surprise, he heads over to his electric organ and punches up a Lionel Richie tune. 

Yes, this gets better and better, now we are listening to “Dancing on the Ceiling” through some terrible speakers with the keys lighting up on the key board.

Again, I was close to calling this whole thing off and I now realize how much planning went into this night.  We move to the kitchen and he asks me if I like green beans or carrots, I say carrots and he pulls out that dish already prepared (although he had made both).  He then makes a fantastic chicken dish with noodles (see photo, my hand writing at the bottom was with my left hand due to my injury). 

Now, since I have one working arm, this makes many tasks (such as eating) a challenge, let alone noodles.  He looks at this as an opportunity, he wants to feed me.  I am thinking, I can’t believe I am sitting here listening to Lionel Richie with this guy trying to feed me.

The choices continue into dessert.  He asks if I like vanilla or chocolate pudding.  Both are prepared in a champagne flute with whipped cream on top.  I am now realizing he does not want this night to end.

Now I say to him, I really need to get going as I have an early day tomorrow.  He understands and wants to drive me home.  I said, no need, I can get a cab.  He wasn’t having any part of it.  He insisted on taking me home.

We live about a mile apart.  As we get close, he is trying to trick me into additional dates.  I am telling him I am not in the social mood these days due to my arm and really need some time off.  I can tell he won’t take no for an answer, but it calmed him down momentarily. 

Now, as we get to my place, I am frantically trying to open my passenger door before he goes in for the lean.  This is very difficult as it is my right arm that is broken.  I barely let the car slow down as I was on my way.

I thought this was the end of it, but he continued to call me and ask me out for months to come.  He was almost border line stalker as he would just show up at my work and want me to visit with him.  After a while, the whole office knew that if this guy showed up unannounced, I was busy.

For the record, my friends got a lot of mileage out of the Lionel Richie songs.  For weeks I would come home to another song sung on my answering machine (this was a while ago folks) with my name inserted in key verses of the song.

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Lesson learned?  His intentions were very different than he implied in just helping me get a good meal during my injury.  And, try this recipe!