Friday, February 5, 2010

My Mexican yenta

posted Fri, 24 Jun 2005

I just had lunch with my friend Maria Antonette, the Mexican lawyer. Toni has been out of the dating game for a while, or maybe they just do it differently in Mexico. As soon as she found out that I am now a free agent, she told me I had to meet a colleague of hers.

“You’ll really like Mark! He’s a vice-president!”

“Isn’t everyone and his dog a vice-president at a bank?” I asked.

“He has a Mercedes two-seater convertible,” she said.

“Big deal,” I said. “I’m not a car snob. Where has he traveled?”

“He’s smart and he’s a really nice guy,” she admitted.

So after lunch, I go back to her office with her. She drags Mark to the reception area. We meet. We are making small talk. It’s fine.

“Mark!” Toni says. “Class Factotum speaks Spanish fluently!”

“Oh really,” he says politely. Yep. That’s the way to a man’s heart. He looks at the items on a woman’s resume.

“I need to get back to work,” I say.

“Don’t you have a card?” Toni asks Mark.

“Not on me,” he answers.

“Callate,” I tell her. Be quiet!

“But,” she protests.

“Deja que las cosas sigan como deben,” I insist. Let things go the way they should.

I chatted with this guy for five minutes. He’s not someone who, at first glance, I would think I would want to date, but I like Toni and think she has good judgment (after all, she has me as a friend, right?), so if he asked me out to dinner, I would go. But I am not going to take his card and call him.

When Toni walks to the elevator with me, she says, “I’ll talk to him and get his number for you!”

“No, Toni!” I insist. “If he’s interested in calling me, that’s fine. He’ll come to you and ask for my phone number. But your work here is done!”

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