23 November 2025
Story #1142
R. Linda:
Me sister has a besty who never married. The right lad never came along, but hope was not lost. No, she practices the old adage, if things don't work out the first time, try, try again. And well, this time, I think she will drop that as things did not work out the way she had hoped and dreamed (sigh).
It was a stop at a local pub that started the journey: Is he the right one, or not? Our lass, one Fiona Duffy, had been with friends at a hen do, and on the way home, a few of them decided to stop at the corner local for a nightcap. In the course of the hour spent laughing and rehashing the hen do, Fiona's two friends decided to call it quits and go home. Fiona was about to do the same when this fellow about her age came over and asked if he could buy her a drink. Well, no was the answer; she was just about to leave, but thanks all the same. She could see the disappointment in his face, and feeling a slight buzz, she said, "Alright, just one, that would be nice, but make it a coffee, please."
After thirty minutes of his being very entertaining with jokes and such, she felt a slight attraction. He must have, too, because he asked her out. Being a cautious sort, Fiona accepted but said she would meet him for coffee at the coffee shop in town. She was one for safety first, as she had no idea who this man named Coltrain was. His buddies called him Col, so I never did get his first name. Anyway, they met at the coffee shop/tea room and hit it off. He was charming, he was! Full of funny stories and such, he was a worker at a dye factory in town and right off, she knew he wasn't a good match, as she worked as a secretarial assistant for a Data Processing executive in an insurance company. However, he was fun and well, why not enjoy the camaraderie, eh?
But despite her misgivings, things were turning serious after just six weeks of dating. And how did she know this? Col asked her to a fancy gourmet restaurant for dinner. This would be a step up from going to locals to throw a hatchet, play darts, or just hang with his buddies and listen to silly men's stories.
The evening came, and the restaurant was just down the block from Fiona's abode, where she lived with her widowed mother. Excited, she had dressed in her best, only to see that Coltrain was dressed as usual, but he wore a sports jacket under his coat. Hum. Well, beggars can't be choosers and feeling she did not know him well enough to tell him to go home and change into an appropriate dress for a high-class eating establishment, she bit her tongue and, waving at her rather startled mother, off she went.
As you can guess, they were shown to a table off the beaten path, where they wouldn't be seen. She understood why, but said nothing. The kitchen door was five feet away, and this Col did notice, and mentioned they'd receive their food faster and hotter. Ok then!
The menu was in French, a language Col could not make heads nor tails of. Fiona interpreted what was listed, and each item seemed to gross Mr. Coltrain out.
"Snails? No way will I eat those," he said, with a horrified expression on his face. "Liver pate'? Liver? No way."
Well, most items on the menu he seemed surprised people ate. Finally, they decided on apps, mains, and dessert. None of which HE was looking forward to, and mumbled a few times that it was a mistake to come to such an establishment that served "gutter foods."
For an appetiser, he had ordered toasted garlic rounds with caviar, the latter he had never tried. When his portion arrived, he noticed (as did she), the rounds were minuscule and not exactly for a hearty eater, but more a dainty one. The caviar, he said, was too salty, and so he scraped that off and, taking the three small toasts, shoved them in his mouth and chewed. Dissatisfied, he mentioned that he hoped the main selection was better than what he had "snacked" on.
He had rejected ordering Fiona's suggestion of calamari in a French cream sauce because he said he wasn't about to eat testicles. What he meant was tentacles. Fiona overlooked that blunder of an explanation. She had read the menu aloud, and Col decided on the Foie de veau à la Lyonnaise avec fromage. He mistook liver for steak (though Fiona had said, "liver like a steak"), and the rest, onions with cheese, sounded not great, but he could manage to down that.
As you can imagine, one taste of the liver smothered in onions and cheese did not disguise the taste, and he was not a happy lad. Add to that the gourmet potatoes on the side of the plate were no more than a micro-dollop and one scoop, and they were gone. The asparagus were three shortened stalks, and, well, Col didn't care for the way they had been cooked, so he cut them into even tinier pieces than they already were and mixed them into the cheese and onions, complaining with every bite. Indeed, he complained long and loudly, and Fiona knew the kitchen staff could hear him. Unbeknownst to Col, who could not speak or understand French, the cursing directed at table 7 from the kitchen was loud enough for Fiona to hear. That was their table number, and well, being a woman who wasn't born yesterday, as apparently Col was, she knew sabotage was probably in their future.
They had ordered the Crepe Suzette for two for dessert. As you know, crepes don't look like much, and when the dessert arrived, Col complained it looked like breakfast! The dish was flambeed tableside for dramatic effect, but Col was not impressed. I do think like American pancakes, where you get a stack, he was disappointed that the two small crepes were one each. The taste of the Grand Marnier was also not appreciated, and he voiced that as well, ending it with, "That was the worst dinner he ever ate, or tried to."
Earlier, he had complained that the establishment did not serve beer, only wine, and he wasn't a wine drinker, but if that's all they had, he'd have to force himself. Meanwhile, Fiona did not enjoy any of the fare she ordered because of her tablemate's constant complaining. Little did she know the bill would be Col's final straw. Now, originally (as in all fancy restaurants), the prices weren't listed next to the selections, and for some unknown reason, Col thought all the selections were the same price. How much could they be, since they came in micro portions? I'll tell you how much they were, astronomical!
Watching him read the bill, Fiona said his eyes were like saucers, his expression one of abject horror and his hands shook. Right off, she knew there was a problem, an expensive one. Loudly complaining, he handed over a credit card, which came back declined.
"Have you another?" The waiter smugly asked.
Another was handed over, and Col's eyes grew suspicious as he watched the waiter's back.
"There was nothing on that card; it should have gone through with this highway robbery," he said loudly that everyone heard him. Fiona wanted to hunch down in her seat and slide under the table, but thought better of that.
That card was declined, and Col lost his temper, loudly berating the waiter, the restaurant, and the FOOD. There had been snickers coming from the kitchen as this was going on, Fiona said. Well, Col dug out another and final card, and that one went through.
Fiona was embarrassed, but that didn't stop Col from loudly going on about small portions that you needed a magnifying glass to see. About being forced to eat dog food disguised in cheese to fool any red-blooded man into digesting something he usually would not give a stray cat. That was when a terrific roar of a French curse went up in the kitchen, and pots and pans sounded like they were thrown around. Being aware of what THAT was all about, as soon as Col signed his life away on the dotted line, Fiona made haste they leave. They were followed out the door by the eyes of the other patrons who looked disapprovingly at them. But the humiliation wasn't over, no, it was not.
The couple was maybe 20 feet away from the restaurant door when the heavens opened unexpectedly.
"My new hat and coat!" Fiona screamed, thinking of the ruination.
Looking around, Col grabbed her arm and led her hurriedly to a small alcove of a flat. They found the alcove wasn't very deep, and the rain coming over the ledge was like a waterfall. Col pulled Fiona back against the door, trying to move them both out of the deluge, when the door gave and they both fell backwards into the flat's foyer.
The couple inside were in their lounge watching the telly when a swoosh of cold air hit them and a loud thump interrupted their viewing pleasure. Both ran to the front door to find a wet man and woman down. The man was trying to get himself up while helping his woman, but he was tangled in his coat and could only get himself up, as the man of the house bent down and, with his wife's aid, got Fiona on her feet. All was explained to the flat dwellers, and they, in turn, invited the couple in to dry off, but the sudden shower had passed, and all Fiona wanted was to make it to her own doorstep.
Once the "intruders" were outside, the couple went back to their telly. Fiona looked at a miserable, sopping Col and ended it. Yes, she did, she was grateful for the dinner he bought her, but had realised they were not compatible. Col, for his part, agreed and, like the prat he was, he walked away, leaving Fiona alone on the sidewalk. Feeling deserted, she started off for home, but did not get far, for suddenly the heel of her shoe broke (most likely from the fall in the alcove), and there she was, one high heel and one without. Now she was royally pissed, so picking up the broken heel, she started off, but hey, we aren't finished yet. Another shower began to rain down, and by the time she limped home, she was quite the soggy, cold mess.
Her mother was horrified and had nothing good to say about Mr Coltrain. No, she didn't like him from the start, but thought maybe, in time, he might grow on her. But let's get real, she knew that would never happen. Getting little sympathy from that quarter, Fiona limped up the stairs to take a hot bath. While soaking in it, she came to the conclusion she didn't need a man, not now, not ever. She was done, done, and done again!
I have occasionally asked me sissy about Fiona Duffy and if she was still a spinster. I know that's a terrible word, but . . . It seems Ms. Duffy is still working at the insurance company and making good money. No, she has not been back to the French restaurant and probably never will. No, she has not seen nor been in contact with Mr. Coltrain, first name unknown. And no, she hasn't dated since that fateful, horrible night. I think it's dreadful that Ms. Duffy has sworn off men. We aren't all Coltrains, you know. If she doesn't get out on the dating scene, she will never find Mr. Right. As me wife would say, "To each his own."
Gabe
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