Brunch with the Brazilian

As you probably recall the last date with Miss Brazilian didn’t go well, I found her all too self absorbed and too quick to blow her own trumpet, (when she should be blowing mine!). Brunch was a second chance and was only agreed to since the first two dates went so well. We arranged to meet at 11am at Bond Street. I had some things to do on Oxford Street prior so arrived an hour earlier to get my errands done.

I wandered to Bond Street at 11 and sent her an SMS to let her know where I was. I received a hurried phone call from Miss Brazilian to let me know she had overslept and would be there as soon as possible (scorecard – strike one.....). She eventually arrive nearly 50 minutes late, hurried, rushed, out of breath, and untidy looking. She told me she got ready in 15 minutes. I could tell. I spent far too much time noticing her chin hair in the harsh daylight.

She took me to a lovely cafe in Marylebone, we had to line up for 40 minutes to get a table. Brunch was nice, conversation was okay. We finished and walked up Oxford Street looking at shops and talking. London weather kicked in and it started raining so we escaped to the Apple Store on Regent Street where Miss Brazilian took the opportunity to impress me with her technical knowledge.

We ran to the nearby Cafe Nero where we had coffees. It was at this point I noticed my ambivalence towards the woman across the table. On our first date I couldn’t wait to tear this girls clothes off, now I looked across the table at someone who really didn’t do much at all for me. The conversation was okay, she looked fine, but the spark that was there in the first and second date was gone. I wondered if Miss Designer stole it when she dumped me....

A good friend of mine, Pandaroo, chose that moment to SMS me and ask to catch up to talk about some of her own lesbian relationship drama, so Miss Brazilian and I headed over to a pub on Carnaby street to meet my friend. We spent the rest of the day talking and drinking. Miss Brazilian’s tendency to talk about herself continued. I realised I had spent the day dutifully listening to her tirade and opinions on just about everything (Scorecard – strike two). It reached boiling point where Miss Brazilian managed to turn Pandaroo's pain into a story about herself (Scorecard- strike three)....

I waited for a break in her sermon and noted I had work the next day. Miss Brazilian left in the opposite direction, and my friend and I wandered down to Piccadilly, had some dinner and talked about her relationship in detail sans Miss Brazilian’s monologue. I suddenly felt much happier.

Despite all the dates and drama, I know my friends are my London family and a relationship will just be a bonus to an already amazing circle of people!