Alan of the blue eyes has me mesmerized.
It's the first time we meet and he is asking me out on a date. I hear myself say yes.
The first date, he stands me up. I shrug and have a drink with my friends instead, laughing at the predictability of men.
A few days later, he comes back grovelling and asks for a second chance. I roll my eyes and accept.
The second date, he stands me up. I have already made this a joke among my friends, who are taking bets on whether he will actually show up or not. He doesn't and I call him. He apologizes profusely and begs for a third chance.
The third date, he shows up, to the surprise of me and all my friends. He takes me to a hamburger place somewhere in Tallaght, a dreary Dublin suburb. Afterwards, we go to visit a stable full of thoroughbred racehorses somewhere in the hills, so he can show me where he works - he's a steeplechase jockey apparently, as well as a rally driver. He likes fast horses and fast cars and drives like a mad knight with a death wish on the narrow Irish roads. I'm thrilled by the beautiful horses I've seen and don't mind too much (feeling that if I'm killed, I die happy).
We go back to the hotel where I work to continue our date in the bar there. Before we go in, he pulls me behind the car and kisses me. He's a very good kisser and his eyes still mesmerize me. But in the bar, I drift toward my friends and he towards his own.
A while later, he's gone. I never see him again. I don't really mind.
"All I wanted was a white knight
with a good heart, soft touch, fast horse..."
(Faith Hill: "This Kiss")
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