Alistair McClair, Seattle's #1 most eligible bachelor, has had a string of horrible breakups. 99 ex-girlfriends to be exact. And now was his time for a new match. But an issue arises in the matchmaking process, linking him up with a man. Alistair se...
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Alistair McClair
It was one week before the gala. And I knew that I needed to brush up on my gentleman etiquette. You'd think that I knew how to treat a partner. However, because none of my relationships ever reached come-with-me-to-a-gala status, I didn't know how to properly escort someone.
Which is why I called upon Meredith to help me with this. On a Friday afternoon, she brought all the necessary things for this quick crash course.
"Step one, when escorting Calvin, place your hand on the small of his back and carefully walk him forward." She said. We stood at the front of my apartment door.
I was confused with her instructions until she grabbed my arm and placed it on her back.
"Ohhhh..." I muttered. "Got it."
"Great. Remember, walk slowly, but not too slowly. You want to look like you're showing him off but that he's yours."
"How do I–" I asked. I walked us forward through my front door. Meredith kept giving me tips, such as standing up straight and also clutching her torso closer to her.
"Good job." She said. She stepped away from me. "Next part we're doing is seating. I'm sure you know a bit about this."
"Yes." I replied. The dining table was reorganized to look like a table for two.
"Before you even think about sitting, your attention all goes onto your partner. Pull out my chair and show me towards it." Meredith explained.
I walked to one of the chairs and lifted it up to prevent it from scratching the floor and making a loud noise. I signaled my hand to the seat, and Meredith walked and took a seat on it. I then carefully slid the chair in, following her directions.
"That was great. Now you can go to your seat." She instructed me. I pulled out my chair and sat in it. I did my usual routine, placing a napkin on my lap and making sure my table mat was parallel to the table.
"Can I take-a your orders?" Someone asked. I looked up and saw Kostas in a waiter's outfit. He also had on a fake mustache and had a weird thick Italian accent. He isn't even Italian.
"What is Kostas doing here?" I asked Meredith.
"Kostas? Who is this-a Kostas? I am Mario Luca Rosso." Kostas said.
"We needed a waiter." Meredith said. "Don't worry, I made sure he isn't going to do anything stupid tonight. Right, Mario?" She asked.
"Of course, Signora Chester!" Kostas– I mean Mario– actually, fuck that. Kostas.
"Can we order now?" I asked.
"Si." He replied. Kostas went on a lang tangent about the specialty of tonight and how amazing the chef is. In the end, we didn't have anything of what he said. So we just asked for the "House Special," which was just leftover lasagna from last night.
