I met a boy.
He was my quiet colleague.
I was his superior.
We talked random things at work to pass time.
But over time, something happened.
No, it isn’t love.
But he did asked me out on a date.
And that changed everything.
My perception, my opinions about lousy chauvinistic men who exist.
The feeling of being asked out verbally speaks volumes.
In fact, it earned him lots of brownie points even though I didn’t exactly fancy him.
But I was blown over by his gesture to ask me out on a date, directly.
I was smitten.
Not smitten by him.
But smitten by the fact that he asked me out on a date.
And not beating around the bush.
Nor waiting around for things to happen.
Or even texting me out on a date.
Or worse, asking his friend to ask on his behalf.
Tell me, tell me, where have all those men who are man enough to ask a girl out on a date gone to?
Eiffel, I am in love.
Not with him.
But so totally in love with the gentleman who resides in very few and rare breed of men who prowl the globe.
Let me find other gentlemen out there.
Let me go out on long dates walking hand in hand basking in the sunshine.
Let me bear witness to the butterfly in the stomach feeling as I wait for him with bated breath on our first date.
Let me feel immensely happy to be treated with grace and respect akin to a 1800-era woman.
She who goes through courtship with such grand and majestic fanfare.
Sometimes I feel that I am born in the wrong generation;
the generation of Blackberry, instant messaging, pre-marital sex and cohabitation.
Instead, give me those days when a courtship revolves around penning 300-word love letter being thrown back and forth at each other.
It doesn’t have to progress into a full-blown relationship.
Just a few dates will suffice.
To keep this dimming heart alive.
And to make me continue to believe that the man I will marry will be the epitome of a classy gentleman.