Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mother’s Day Matchmaker
As we sat in IHOP laughing and talking and enjoying Miss Elsa’s antics, Michelle, Teryn and I noticed a gentleman seated at a table across the aisle from us. He was waving to Miss Elsa and laughing, too. Finally, he could contain himself no longer as she flirted in her one-year old way, and he spoke up. As he watched her nibble on the puffs her mother had supplied, while we ate crepes and other grownup foods, he assured her that he would be happy to cook just for her.
Our Mother’s Day breakfast progressed and Michelle, (more like her mother than she realizes) engaged our breakfasting neighbor in conversation. After a few pleasantries she asked him where he was from and as both Michelle and I already knew the answer due to his accent, we weren’t surprised when he said “Italy, I am from Rome.”
Encouraged, as his willingness for conversation continued, Michelle explained that we are four first (and only) daughters. The gentleman, whose name we later discovered is Romolo, told us that he has four grown daughters, all independent from his care, and that his wife passed away from breast cancer five years ago.
I’m certain it was in that moment that Michelle made her decision. Continuing in breakfast table conversation across the aisle, she managed to tell Romolo that I speak (or rather used to speak) Italian, and she also managed to pique his further interest by conveying to him in a subtle manner that I might be interested in making a new friend.
He was interested. Romolo and I discovered that we live nearby one another. He mentioned that he has a very nice home and I said, “So do I.” Michelle, now playing matchmaker to the hilt, mentioned that I prepare wonderful Italian dishes, whereupon Romolo assured her that I wouldn’t have to cook, that he’d take me out. As his enthusiasm gained momentum he mentioned that a trip to Italy for we two was possibly in the cards for next year and I decided it was time to leave the restaurant, before I found myself engaged to be married.
When we stood to leave he asked if I’d care to have him call. I asked for his card but as he had none I gave him mine. In the best tradition of the continental gentleman he took my hand and kissed it, and looked deep into my eyes.
On the way out my daughter, completely tickled with herself, told me more than once how sweet a man she thought he was, and I could tell from that sparkle in her eyes that she had visions of a happy forever after for me, in her loving heart. We are a family of romantics but from my point of view, that's a bit of a reach.
Thanks, Miss Elsa, you little flirt!