Kristin and I met up for margaritas in the Mission last night and settled on LaRondella. We walked in and were immediately greeted by a young and rather ripped gentleman sitting at the bar, sporting a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a huge golden medallion, religious in nature. He appeared to have some affiliation with the restaurant, but we were unable to discern it.
I should mention that Kristin is rather stunning, possessing pencil arms and perfect accessories. She’s dating a firefighter who’s already charmed my mother and has eyes like the ocean 10 minutes after a storm. Kristin’s a fox in Seven jeans and as she sat there, sipping her margarita and regaling me with tales of the firehouse, Medallion kept eyeing me. All of a sudden, he comes over and kneels down beside me.
“I brought you some limes. Margaritas are so much better with the limes.”
“Okay. Thanks.” We say, kicking each other under the table.
“Can I get you the chips or something?”
“No, we’re cool. Thanks.”
Medallion leaves and Kristin leans over and whispers, “Beth totally has a boyfriend. I love it.”
We continue with the conversation, but Medallion keeps staring at me. Apparently, he can’t take it any more and leaves the bar. I forget about my over-accessorized boyfriend and resume a heated conversation with Kristin. Suddenly, Medallion is back. And he has a gift.
“I am sorry I am so shy. I am so sorry for my heavy accent. But I am from Argentina and I speak Italian.”
“Okay.” I say, smiling and hoping to magically disappear. (Kristin is in hysterics.)
“And you are so special and so cute! I want to give you something.”
He takes a knee and presents me with a box of chocolates. (For you die hard blog readers, this moment was shockingly similar to John at the St. Regis in Shanghai, the only other time I’ve been given the exact same gift in a equally dramatic broken English presentation.)
He explains, “This is a masterpiece.”
Quite frankly, I have no idea what this means, but I’ve had half a pitcher of margaritas so I decide to go with it. “Wow. Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”
“May I ask your name.”
The foreign contingent seems to have trouble with “Beth” so gave him my standard, “Elizabeth.”
“And I am Diego.”
“Well, thank you Diego. This is Kristin.”
I believe he kissed each of our hands. “May I take you two to dinner or to a club.”
Oh shit. I can only imagine Diego dancing in a club, his medallion taking out eyes.
“That’s so nice of you. Unfortunately, we have plans. But this is so sweet. Thank you.”
“Oh. I see. Yes, well, you are so cute!” He’s very enthusiastic, really driving his point home. His long haired, mute friend began to pay attention and stood from his barstool, not quite clearing 5 feet.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I say to Kristin, as we stand to leave. Diego hugs me with one of those hugs where he held the back of my head as if I were an infant. I promised to return one day and enjoy some chips and salsa with him as we said our goodbyes.
As Kristin and I walked down to the Elbow Room, she started laughing hysterically.
“Well, I’d been wondering where the fuck he got those chocolates.”
She pointed to a man sitting on the sidewalk. Just guess what he was selling…