Indian Restaurants Don't Serve Sunday Brunch

For a woman who knows how to cook a grand total of three things, the pressure to entertain a man through his stomach can be burdensome. Thankfully the gentleman who currently occupies my meditations had as little patience for the kitchen on hangover Sunday as I do every day. Instead we meandered through the aisles of the local 'not for the price conscious' Whole Foods and purchased enough green beans and tabouleh to feed an Ethiopian village.



In the crisp fall air we trespassed up a slippery hill to relax outdoors in a gazebo belonging to an apartment complex that wasn't mine. As he uncorked the modest bottle of pinot with a car key and my lip gloss, I felt like a teenager on an illicit rendez-vous with the boy next door. We drank from the bottle, ate sushi with our fingers and giggled like school children for the next hour. Chivalry will get you a second date, but making a woman who is pushing 30 feel like a carefree adolescent for a brief afternoon will [eventually] win you her heart.