Trading Up

October 22, 2010

It’s not everyday that a man has the balls to write his number on your menu and tell you to call him. So when the handsome guy at the table over did, I was immediately intrigued. 

Fast-forward one week, the handsome guy from the restaurant had invited me for drinks. True to my workaholic form, I only had Tuesday at 11:30 PM available. He seemed surprised or perhaps discouraged by my rigid schedule but agreed to meet me anyhow. 

Let’s call him The Trader.

Leaning against the black granite bar of my go-to spot, The Summit Bar, I gave my date the once-over. Tall, with dirty blond hair, his suit was cut slim enough to indicate he had a sense of style and his shoes were inoffensive (I don’t ask for much, just don’t offend me with your clothing). 

We made our way to the back couches and without my alcohol-induced haze I couldn’t help but notice how young he looked. Bored with the typical ‘first date’ niceties I began to grill him with questions; sometimes a girl just needs to have a little fun.

Through an intense round of questioning, The Trader let slip that he'd had half the summer off. I looked at him quizzically, demanding to know just how exactly someone in New York City had more than a month of vacation time?

He looked slightly embarrassed before coming clean; he had just graduated from college. I almost died, it was too much. He was practically a child. Not that I am much older, but still... The last person I slept with is double his age. DOUBLE!

Not to be ageist, but really. Torn on whether or not he’d seen the horror flash across my face, I decided to stay and humor him.

Poor kid has no idea what he just got himself into.