The Nose Knows

My favorite Scorpio and I made last minute plans to try out a new restaurant and wine bar last night. It’s a lovely place, dark paneled and elegant. It was busy and noisy and they were booked with reservations until late, so we decided to eat the bar. I had the spiced pumpkin soup with Nantucket bay scallops, and Scorpio had the baked cod and mashed potatoes. Both were excellent!

The most remarkable find on the menu was the 2004 Dumol Russian River Valley Chardonnay: Very complex, perfectly balanced with a wonderful nose. It seemed to change flavors every time we sipped it. I took a mental note to find it at my local liquor store because it will make a perfect holiday gift.

After dinner we went to his place for some Grand Marnier and Bissinger’s chocolate. We ended up having a relationship talk that didn’t go quite as well as he had planned. He asked the question: “What is the deal with us? Why do we keep breaking up and getting back together?” I told him why, and he got annoyed, which confused me: He had asked a question. Did he think I wouldn’t give him an answer? Was he being rhetorical? Why the hell did he think we kept breaking up? Was he a slow learner?

It’s simple: We keep breaking up because he’s a dog. He treated me unfairly last year and he’s been insulting my intelligence over it ever since. Why can’t he just be honest and talk about it openly for once, just once? I’ve gone on with my life and it’s okay, so can we be real now? If he’s hell-bent on remaining friends with a clairvoyant with a stratospheric IQ he’s gonna get what he gets: A package deal who tells it like it is. This has nothing to do with sex or dating other people and everything to do with honesty and respect. I have the right to make informed decisions about my life, especially about who to involve myself with sexually and under what conditions. I’ve always been honest with him, so the day he stops playing me for a fool is the day I quit ripping his face off and dumping him for it.

Could he kiss me? NO! (pout).

But his was a two part question: So why did we always end up in bed after breaking up? “Hey, you’re in the Friend Zone, buddy,” I thought, but I didn’t say anything. We agreed that, despite everything, our relationship is still a net gain for both of us: We are both better off with each other than without. We enjoy each other’s company and enrich each other’s lives. We have amazing sexual chemistry that we may choose to resist or not. Obviously the pull is stronger than the push or we wouldn’t be curled up on the sofa together, right? After all this time and nonsense we were still good friends, and this was good.

I almost made it out the door. It was 11:30 and I was getting tired, and he was weary of my harping. His keys were jingling and I had already grabbed my evening purse. Then I hugged him, caught his scent, and . . .

I blame the stars.

I blame the wine.

I blame my nose and the way that he smells to me.

No wait, I blame the chocolate. It makes me do bad things.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Well, whatever or whomever is to blame, here we go again.