I was looking for directions to Allen & Delancey, where I’m meeting BGWDI tonight. Turns out it’s not just a bar, but some hot restaurant I’m embarrassed to say seems to have slid under my generally attuned radar. Now I start to think that maybe he’s springing for dinner, what with being on the wagon and it being a NYC Saturday night dinner time and this being the place to eat, apparently. I called him to ask, cuz it seems a reservation would be in order and he’s been vague about the time (“8:30-9ish”).
“I thought we’d just get drinks,” he says. I detect an ever-so-slightly apologetic tone. “I guess I’ve been vague about the time. 9 work for you?”
“Sure.”
So we’re going to sit at the bar while he orders club soda and I get to watch everyone else eat their amazing meals. It’s all clear now.
I’m definitely not having sex tonight.
