There is nothing more appealing than an intimate romantic candle-lit dinner for two.
But first, Aha! First, one must choose a place to eat. One can go someplace local, but local restaurants lack variety and they're so old fashioned. So last century! Indian - Chinese - Italian - Mexican, so old school. No, let's go someplace farther, so much more exciting, so much more contemporary. Let's do fusion. Fusion cuisine is so now. Just like us. Fusion Vietnamese. They enter the restaurant and she requests the window table and the maitre d' explains with an apologetic frown that this table is reserved. What is the man thinking of? Not only should a sophisticated and attractive couple be placed at the window table, they ought to be paid to sit there and attract clientele from off the street! So, no window table. Instead they must squeeeeze round a tiny table between whispering distance of two other occupied tables. So much for intimacy. The menu arrives. He points out the considerable difference in price between the house wine and the others. She reminds him that house wine tastes invariably like vinegar. In fact it is vinegar. He orders the expensive Rioja Reserva. The waiter pours the wine. But there is another problem. The waiters in this restaurant rush forward and pour more wine as soon as a sip is taken - thus ensuring more is drunk since the glass is never empty. Not a good thing. Should we complain? No, can't do that. We'll be exposed as cheapskates. Jesus says: 'Swallow thy pride. Swallow thy wine'.
As for the food. She insists that they order different dishes so that they can romantically taste each others forkfuls. He hates eating off other peoples forks. Germs. But he can't actually say that. She'll murder him. So he goes along with her suggestion even though; secretly, he wishes he could just order what he likes. So they order in coalition. And only now when the waiter has left, they notice that their table has no candle. Every other table has its billowing flame of candle light. Not theirs. Theirs is missing. So this waiter insists on pouring wine as soon as a sip is drunk, but infuriatingly, neglects the one essential thing. Bring a candle, asshole.
But, even by candlelight, romance is not easy.
Indeed so numerous and varied are the illusions, difficulties, demands, resentments, burdens and strains that beset a romantic meal for two - its a wonder anybody bothers. She hates the way he looks at the other diners. He can't stand the way she eats her chicken. And they both can't stand the waiter - an oily, ingratiating weasel of a man with hairy ears and bushy nose hair. And still the fucker insists on pouring wine after every fucking sip. What's wrong with him? And where's my candle, dogshit?!
The couple sitting next door; the woman a pretty blonde with pert breasts and fellatio lips, the man an ugly gargoyle with sebum complexion and shiny nose and forehead (what does she see in him), fascinate. He must have a hell of a sense of humour.
The problem with relationships is as follows: No one is the 'right' person. No one is easy to live with. This is a fundamental axiom. Let me repeat it: No one is easy to live with. There are only degrees of difficulty - and it is important to realise that the other is encrusted not with scintillating diamonds, but with irritating habits, beliefs, superstitions, neuroses, moods, ailments, indulgences, bodily dysfunctions, bad-tastes, not to mention evil relatives and even more evil bitch mother in laws. Living together exposes all this squalor and banality! Her lustrous hair that gleamed so seductively in candlelight becomes a matted wad in the shower plug, and his penis that was such a thrillingly erect tiger (gggrrrrrh!) becomes a flaccid, shrunken fillet dribbling urine over the toilet seat. Love is never final. Love is work in progress. Love is a joint-venture. Love is an investment in a joint-stock company.
The secret to love is autonomy and detachment. Not total surrender and immersion. But autonomy and detachment. The growth of the partner, often perceived as a threat, can be a source of renewal. What benefits the individual - what appears as selfish at first - benefits the couple. So a couple will grow together more surely if each encourages the other to grow separately - and the paradox is that in mature love, detachment encourages attachment. So to succeed as a lover spend more time alone. Do a little of your own thing. Don't give up your friends. The problem is that almost everyone, as soon as they enter a relationship, throws all their eggs into one basket. They expect their partner to be a 'one stop shop' for all their needs. Don't throw your eggs in one basket. This is radical advice.
The candle finally arrives. The waiter finally stops pouring wine after every sip. They look into each others eyes. She wishes he'd stop staring at the imagine-a-blow-job-from-her-lips blond. He wishes he'd ordered that fucking steak...
C'est la vie - C'est la vie.
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