On the eighth day of Christmas…

… I endured an angry Sunday brunch.

This one promised to be good. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy brunch? My third date doesn’t enjoy brunch, that’s who.

Firstly, it’s important to note that he suggested brunch, and he also suggested the place.

Feeling quite excited, and also hungry, I turned up with that ‘I just rolled right out of bed’ look, but not the kind you aim for, where you have actually spent hours making yourself look perfection personified, instead the genuine, ’I literally had no time to even brush my hair, I was so late’ kind.

Nevertheless, there I was sitting in the corner of the snug Le Vespe in Florence, devouring the menu of all the delicious brunch options. My date scanned it quickly and put it down. ‘I don’t really do breakfast. I don’t tend to eat in the mornings.’

WHY WOULD YOU ORGANISE A BRUNCH? What a silly sausage.

I ordered food and a smoothie and a coffee. He just ordered a smoothie. Hashtag, kind of awkward already. Just in case I wasn’t feeling (unjustifiably) greedy enough already, when the waitress brought over two small plates and two sets of cutlery, assuming that we were both being health conscious and splitting the French toast (ehm…absolutely never would I share my French toast with an almost stranger). Instead of just playing into the pretence, my date deliberately swept up his cutlery and plate, shoving into the waitress’s hands, declaring loudly to the entire place, that only I was going to be eating. Thanks.

thumb_DSCF2997_1024(Note: this is a photo of a normal brunch, where both parties have ordered food.)

It became obvious he ought to have been at an anger management class rather than at brunch, when his smoothie arrived. Apparently the fruit was off. And apparently, he’s really not a morning person. It seemed to fuel his anger, when I replied that my smoothie was delicious. With a flick of his wrist, he waved over the same waitress. Already a small part of my ‘let’s not make a fuss in public’ Britishness was beginning to cringe. To make matters worse, after being told that they would make him a fresh smoothie straight away, he began insisting that under no circumstances was he going to be paying for this new smoothie. I was wishing I could move to a different table. He didn’t stop there, though… ‘unacceptable…blah blah…shouldn’t even have to be asking not to pay…blah blah…will not be coming back here again blah blah’. Goodness me, what a commotion. The new smoothie arrived with an apologetic waitress, but no sooner had the tumbler glass touched the table, than he was off again, asking for it in a to go cup. I, on the other hand, had lost all hope for this date, and was tucking into my French toast, cappuccino and smoothie and had no intentions of being rushed nor of leaving the premises.

Angry man’s smoothie arrived, and I suggested that it might be for the best that he left, since my Britishness could take no more public ranting, and quite frankly, someone who doesn’t eat brunch, will never be a good match for me. So that was that. Luckily, I had a book with me (I have a Mary Poppins bag) so munched away contentedly with Isabel Allende for company…much better company at that, too.


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