FOOD
It was our first date.
We met at a new restaurant that featured cuisine and wine from the French region of Bordeaux.
The candle-lit ambiance radiated romance, with music from the French Renaissance in the background.
As we waited for our appetizers, we nibbled on brioche and got to know one another.
“Did you hear what happened in Sri Lanka this morning?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, with a look of concern. “What happened?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “That’s why I asked. I was hoping you knew.”
She stopped nibbling and stopped talking.
There wasn’t a second date.
We met at a new restaurant that featured cuisine and wine from the French region of Bordeaux.
The candle-lit ambiance radiated romance, with music from the French Renaissance in the background.
As we waited for our appetizers, we nibbled on brioche and got to know one another.
“Did you hear what happened in Sri Lanka this morning?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, with a look of concern. “What happened?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “That’s why I asked. I was hoping you knew.”
She stopped nibbling and stopped talking.
There wasn’t a second date.
