Cafe Loup collage

On Thursday night, I got together with three good friends for dinner at Cafe Loup, an adorable restaurant on 13th Street, and talked our heads off for almost three hours.

Topics covered:

— Apple products (and how Mobile Me in its web application continues to effing SUCK)
— parent-teacher conferences
— the people who emerge from your past via Facebook and how this can be awesome or horrifying (Like: “I didn’t like that douchebag in high school. Why should I like him now?”)
— ex-boyfriends/ex-husbands/current boyfriends/current husbands
— night sweats
— Natasha Richardson
— grief
— returning food at a restaurant and the best way to go about it
— online dating
— Little House on the Prairie
— our food (yummy)

We were ENGROSSED in each other. Completely unselfconscious in the hours-long round-table we were in.

Near the end of the night, a man approached our table. He was blurpy, black hair, pale skin, with a little backwards cap on his head. You know. Your basic nightmare. He came right up to our table, and I had a moment of thinking he was one of those people who somehow manage to infiltrate a restaurant and try to sell you used DVDs as you’re having a nice meal. He was so purposeful, that we all stopped talking and looked up at him.

He said, in a Scottish accent, “Excuse me, ladies, sorry for intruding, but I just wanted to let you all know that you all are absolutely beautiful.”

I can’t explain the WAY he said it – just a straight-up compliment – that seriously disarmed us all. We were talking about night-sweats or something ridiculous like that, and suddenly, there he was. It could have been seriously cheesy, and I suppose it was – but there’s a charm in cheesy moments as well. It’s brave. Flirting requires a little bit of that energy. Nothing worse than someone flirting and ALSO trying to impress you with how cool he is. Please stop. Just admit that flirting is always a little bit goofy. He was goofy. We all just started laughing, and saying, “God! Thank you!”

He said, (and he was devastatingly charming in the way that only a blurpy Scot can be), “And now I have to go join my friends – all pudgy and drunk men – ” with a tone of loss and disappointment. Who wants to hang out with a group of drunk men, even if they are your friends, when you could be sitting with a group of 4 women who are vigorously discussing ABC Afterschool Specials and Danny Bonaduce?

Man has his priorities straight.

His energy reminded me of what it’s like to be in Ireland, where you can’t sit at a table in a public place, as a woman, without some blurpy man strolling over and striking up a conversation. Sometimes it’s annoying, but I always feel grateful that the man gave it a shot. Go you.

It made our night. He went off to join his friends, and we all toasted him as he left.