Last night I went on my second date with Michael. We went to the movies and saw one of those cliché romantic comedies, followed by drinks at the Gansevoort. Things were going smoothly. Despite the fact, we had a slight communication problem. He didn’t understand why I refused to let him hold my bag while I went to the ladies room (it almost got ugly). It was a nice gesture but, I couldn’t leave my Chloé Paraty bag with someone who apparently doesn’t know me.
Somehow Michael persuaded me to see his recently purchased condo. I wasn’t sure if it was the bottle of rose or dimples that had me at a temporary state of stupid; I left my beloved Chloé in his car! To make matters worse, his Range Rover was towed to the infamous NYC pound. He suggested that I go home and he would deal with the pound in the morning. Obviously he did not take notes from are earlier incident.
After I insisted that we go tonight, he hailed a taxi and off we went. I was very disappointed by his laid back demeanor after the clerk told us we had a good 2 hours before we could get the car back. He didn’t even care to ask me if I was alright. I decided to take matters in my own hands. I marched right up to window #3 and requested I speak with a manager. Five minutes later, a woman with a smoker’s voice, hacked out “Will the owner of the yellowish mustard purse please come to window?” I nearly jumped out of my seat with excitement to claim my Chloé!
Skipping back in to the waiting area, I couldn’t help but notice Michael’s dimples again. His eyes looked so pleased to see that I was at peace. I had no choice, but to wait with him until his car was released.
Besides, how would I get home?