The Hungarian

The Hungarian, perhaps the most traveled and well cultured person I know, chose a Mexican restaurant for our second date. I scrunched up my nose, grateful he couldn't see my face in the darkness of his car. Mexican food is pretty bottom of the barrel in my opinion. It's always some corn product stuffed with shredded meat and topped with tomato or cheese sauce. I have never had a Mexican meal and declared afterward "Ooh that was good!" Mexican is filling, not good. And this man who has probably tasted every cuisine in its natural habitat chose Mexican. Blech.

***

The morning after our first date, I arrived to work a half hour early because I couldn't sleep. I was that disappointed with myself for making out with the hot, bad boy. And when I regaled my coworkers with the story of our date, they scrunched their noses exactly like I had done when I heard I was eating Mexican.

"Could it have been nerves?" my boss asked.

I paused and gave her question some thought. "I mean, it's possible. He was very self deprecating of himself after he saw how bristled I became."

"Could he have been creating a bit when he was teasing you?"

"If it was a bit, it failed miserably."

The Hungarian had texted me the same morning. He was confirming our date for Saturday. He tried to tease me again and I texted back that I would not go out with him if it was going to be at my expense.

Then he gave me a proper invite and I accepted. Then morning of our date, he texted me his address. And when I didn't respond, he called a couple of hours later to confirm yet again.

***

Back in the car, The Hungarian flipped through his mp3's. "There might be a wait tonight. It's a popular restaurant."

I asked him if we were going to the only Mexican restaurant I could stand. That's because it's really Americanized Tex Mex and not true Mexican food. He said it was the restaurant I was thinking of. I cheered and clapped.

"Ah, she is happy," he said.

At the dinner table I reached in my Kate Spade evening bag and pulled out a pink post-it note. "I called my father," I began.

"Oh no. I am not going to say a word. You got so angry last time that I am just going to sit here."

I pushed the post-it across the table towards him. I don't know German and I didn't want to mispronounce anything in front of him. "Here is the town in Austria my father says my family is from."

He inspected the paper and pulled out his iPhone. He typed in the town name. "Heh," he said. "It really is on the Austrian/Hungarian border." He flipped his phone towards me so I could see. "Here is Budapest. Here is the city the where I am from. And here is your town. It's about two hours from where I grew up."

This is the moment where I should have smiled demurely. "Eat your words, [Hungarian]!" I smirked.

He picked up the post-it from the table and brought it to his nose. He inhaled and fluttered his eyes, as if it were scented. Then he tucked it inside his wallet.

After dinner, he asked if I wanted to go back to his house and have a mug of tea and watch a movie.

"Never go to the second location," I automatically responded.

"I do not know what that means?"

"Oh, just on Oprah, when you're abducted it's safer to escape at the point of abduction. It's when they get you to the second location, that's where you're in danger of being killed."

"Ah."

But I went to the second location. His house was immaculate. I doubt there was a misplaced crumb. "Shoes off," he instructed.

"What?" I asked.

"No shoes in the house."

All of a sudden I felt like Carrie Bradshaw. I stuck out my lower lip. "Have you seen my outfit?" I asked defiantly. "It does not work without my boots." I was wearing this skimpy, little dress with my new knee highs. It was the boots that were keeping me from revealing too much. And they were keeping me warm. Without my boots, I was just a girl in a skimpy, little dress.

"Boots off!" he repeated. He lit a fire in the fireplace and put in a movie. I always said that Come over and watch a movie was international code for sex. This theory had just been confirmed. It wasn't long before we were making out again.

The Hungarian is handsy. I kept brushing away his advances.

"Your knees are so tight they could crush bones," he remarked.

"Yes, your bone."

"I think I am too agile for you," he said.

"Agile?"

"Handsy," he said, using my word. I laughed.

"I just need an emotional connection before I can do anything physically," I explained.

"It's like the chicken and the egg," he said. "Who's to say which one comes first? I think the emotional and physical come together."

"But the chicken and the egg—there is no right answer," I remarked.

"No, it means I am right," he chuckled. "If I was just in this for notches in my belt, I would have asked you to leave. But I didn't. I am older now. I'm attracted to you physically and emotionally. Unfortunately for you, all of my attention is on you," he grinned.

The Hungarian never did get past second base that night. I was tucked in my own bed by midnight. As I was leaving, he told me he was heading to Montreal for business, but that he would be back by Thursday and wanted to see me then. I like that he asks for the next date as the current one is ending, but I'm still wary of him. He didn't say anything adverse to me that night and appeared reformed with teasing me. But I can't gauge yet how calculating he is.