Speed Dating

December 3, 2005

Perhaps I am always a little serious. Especially in my writing. Which is a little funny to ponder, for I think on the outside I am one of the least serious people I know. I find myself singing every morning, while biking to work. Screaming yippee and ringing the bell of my bike exactly four times, as Amy and I race down the street to get to the bike path. I tell her that I am the tortoise and she is the hare, and that someday I will beat her. People see Amy and I and smiles come to their faces.

Countless people have told us, “Goodness you look like you two are having fun!” and we reply, always with a grin, “We are!” So when one of our divorced colleagues with teenage children started talking about the Italian dating scene, we happily commiserated. She laughed at the thought that the speed dating phenomenon had made it to Milano.
“Let’s Go!” I exclaimed.
“Let’s Go?” She, who wishes to remain nameless, responded in disbelief.
“Yessss! I mean, why not!?” Amy bubbled over with exuberance, holding the s of the yes a little longer than usual. That is how you knew Amy was in. Whenever she thought something was a good idea, you would get a yes with a long s. Amy was always one to be up for anything and that yes happily would ring in my ears. I just knew that Amy felt like our divorced colleague was just too nice to be sitting home on her Saturday nights. So we got on the internet, registered our names with cell phone numbers that were one number off and we were set for speed dating.

Armed with only one cuba libre (rum and coke) and my cheat sheet of Italian phrases written on a piece of Amy’s card stock sketch book paper, we headed to speed dating. Yes, I only had one cuba libre. Oh, were you surprised by the cheat sheet? Trust me, the drinks would have proved more helpful I think.

“You aren’t going to put the cheat sheet out on the table, are you?” Amy asked in disbelief, reminding me how crazy of an idea this was. Considering the fact, that the phrases I had written down were things like, “My name is”….”I am American”. Things that most people learn in their first day in Italy, I still would struggle with when I got nervous.

“Um, Amm, I think it is going to be pretty obvious that I can’t speak ANY Italian. So what is this piece of paper going to do? Hopefully give us something to laugh at. And any guy that is going to spend any time with me, better be able to laugh at my shenanigans!” Because we all know, there will be shenanigans.

I haven’t really ever dated. I am not sure I even know how, and a little more sure, that I don’t want to learn. So, why on God’s green Earth would I choose Speed Dating? I was honestly just up for a good laugh. Plus, I can’t fight the desire of being able to someday sit down with my future grand nieces and nephews and tell them what it was like to sit in downtown Milan meeting 25 Italian men unable to speak one coherent Italian phrase.

Why not live a life that makes me smirk? In fact, I want a life that literally makes me laugh out loud. Well, speed dating was surely perfect for that.

Every depiction of dating that I had watched or read about, converged into one whirlwind night of broken Italian phrases and men that crossed the spectrum with such ease that I wondered what country I was actually living in.

Many men were nice. Many men were actually good looking, and even seemingly normal. But do you really go to speed dating to find someone normal? Well, I certainly didn’t. In my head, I could hear Jim deHaan telling me I would find true love sitting at some café table in Italy. I couldn’t help but laugh, picturing his sincere face.

“Well Jim, I was at a café table, but it was a long cafeteria type table, with crisp white linens on it. Girls lined on one side, boys on the other, shoulders touching. I had transcended to a bad version of a middle school dance, but now I was 31, and I wasn’t even sure how to say that in Italian.

Amy sat to my right. So she got to talk to all the guys exactly 200 seconds before I did. Giving me heads up on particularly bad ones. To see the look in their eyes when they realized that they would be spending another 200 seconds speaking English was priceless. Especially when they realized I was even worse at speaking Italian than she was. I just smiled and said scussi (Excuse me).

The high point of the evening came when Amy leaned over and said, “Oh my! This guy is miserable.” By the time he had gotten to me, he just asked, in what I can only assume was perfect Italian, “Do you speak Italian?”

I responded, “un poco." After which, he immediately checked the box NO beside my number. I was so thrilled to sit there in silence and actually be able to look at the room around me, that I almost forgot that he was even in front of me. It wasn’t until Amy leaned over and asked, “Have we ever been to the club Hollywood?” did I refocus on our table. Amy was sitting in front of a good looking, but very slick Italian man named, Roberto. Let’s just roll the r for fun…Roberrrrrrto! Roberrrrrto, couldn’t stay focused for the brief second Amy turned to me to ask the question. He was busily checking out other women down the line. Women, that Amy and I were sure could speak flawless Italian. Amy quickly snapped her fingers in front of his face to gain his attention, while I returned to my assessment of the room. Seconds later, bored by Roberto, Amy leaned over in disbelief and asked, “Are you actually sitting there in complete silence?”
“Absolutely! He checked the NO box right in front me. So I thought, why waste my Italian phrases? So, I am taking a break for 180 seconds!” I responded, as Amy laughed hysterically, which of course made me almost cry in laughter. What did my "date" do? He looked at me, and with the sleeziest grin I could ever put on someone, told me I had beautiful blue eyes. Yuck!

DING

“Ciao, Roberrrrto...Mi chiamo Rebecca."