Ten Year Anniversary of the First Date

While in Atlanta recently, my wife and I decided to go back to one of the restaurants we ate at when we first met some ten years ago. Our first date is a story that I used to tell regularly in my early years of teaching, but it has fallen out of heavy rotation. It is back on my mind due to our recent outing in the ATL (or HOTlanta if you prefer):

At the time when I met my wife-to-be, I was an underemployed wine importer with long hair, a goatee, and living in my parents' basement (see picture at top of blog). I was also doing a LOT of yoga and was super thin. Turns out that Irene did not like guys with long hair, much less facial hair of any kind, and considered me to look “scrawny” (n.b. I would use the word “fit” to describe myself back then)! I was immediately smitten with her but, in order to sell myself, I had my work cut out for me.

So on the first date, all the pressure was all on me. We went to a fancy restaurant with an upstairs seating area. We were seated upstairs right next to an open area into which you could look down onto the bar area. I started off by playing the only card I had: wine knowledge and general European sophistication. We both had ordered glasses of wine. They were fancy-smancy glasses – big bulbous things with a splash of wine at the bottom.

I am swirling the wine in the glass, waxing poetic about the fermentation of grapes and the olfactory appreciation of the finer things in life. I fall into “European Ken” mode and begin gesticulating a lot while talking up a storm. She is obviously slightly amused and so I make an especially emphatic point with a big sweeping motion. I have yet to take a sip of my wine.


My right hand hits the bottom of my red wine glass at exactly the right angle to carry it up and over railing. Time slows down. I see Irene’s eyes go wide. I see the wine glass spinning in place, hovering out over the edge – daring me to catch it before it drops. Like a scene in the “Matrix”, I seem to have an infinite amount of time. Before I can have another thought, my right hand jumps out and catches the twirling glass by the stem between my first two fingers. In one subtle and elegant movement, I had saved the glass and brought it back to its original location on the table. Only it was empty.

Irene is speechless. I am speechless. She looks at me, I look at her. She is clearly thinking, “Hmmm… interesting situation – his true character will be revealed now.” I am thinking, “Oh – no! I really like this girl and now it all comes down to this. What I say next will shape my entire destiny.”

I lean away from the balcony and ask her, “Can you look over the edge and tell me where the red wine went?” She looks over the edge and reports, “There’s a woman in a white dress sitting at the bar, an empty bar stool, and a puddle of red wine on the next stool.” Nobody, including the bartender, had noticed the wine pouring down from a floor above and splashing onto the seat.

I call over the waitress, explain the situation, and ask for a free refill, since I didn’t even get a sip yet!

Must have worked out okay since Irene is still going out to eat in public with me ten years later. (Full disclosure: In the interim, I did get a haircut, shaved the goatee, moved out of my parents’ basement, found gainful employment, and gained twenty pounds.)

(bar picture from hopstop.com for South City Kitchen)