Tuesday. At the Cantina enjoying the Taco Tuesday Specials.

I know, you’re all dying to know what happened with the Russian Guy. Did I let my curiosity get the better of me? Did I go for the erotic spy thriller after all?

Um, yeah, obviously! Duh, it’s me! You know what I always say! Where there’s a men, there’s a story! Plus, our chemistry was like… phew! Way off the charts! Have you ever seen two scorpions together locked up in their weird little dance? Yeah, it was something like that…

I went to meet him at a neutral location which was neither my neighborhood bar, nor his fancy hotel bar. We went to the Four Seasons instead. Very Swiss, very neutral, very much here for it.

Isn’t that so fun to say?! Hell yeah! We love a man who wants to meet us at Happy Hour at the motherfucking Four Seasons! Talk about a class act! Way to come up in the world, fam. It was fancy as fuck! So here for it!

I admit I struggled for some time with what sort of outfit I should wear on this date. Obviously, one would immediately go for the slinky dress. However, this is Hong Kong, and it’s a very small island, and everyone in the expat community knows each other. Needless to say, I was hesitant to walk into a place where expats do business over casual drinks looking like a Bond Girl and/or sex worker. What if someone recognized me? Yikes!

After several costume changes, I settled on something relatively close to my usual everyday wear. Long loose pants, mock neck top, fitted jacket, hot pink tennis shoes, hot pink umbrella, newspaper print bag. All black. Hair slicked back into a bun. Very profesh, like I just came form the office, just like most of the other people who were in that room.

I admit that I was very intimidated by him. Everything about this situation was so far out of my comfort zone. Like, okay, sure, yeah, I have written stories like this before, but that shit was made up! This is real! This is Hong Kong, fam! Sometimes it can be very, very glamorous. It still catches me off-guard, especially because I am not exactly living the “high life” here.

So there I was, on my fancy, classy, glamorous date with The Russian at the Four Seasons, and just like that, I realized I had literally become Carrie Bradshaw. The only difference is that the age gap here is something like 5-7 years, not 20-30. Plus, my Russian is much more handsome and charming and charismatic.

Hahaha.

I’m actually trying to figure out how to write this story because we had a very specific conversation about my stories and characters. He asked me to read him the story I had already written about him. Like right there, directly to his face. Terrifying!

Much to my surprise, he thought it was funny! He was laughing and laughing. He said, “I remember why I liked you so much. You are very funny! You are fun!”

Same, same, somehow, in spite of all the anti-wokeness.

He also said, “You did not tell them the real story.”

“What is the real story?”

“The real story is that I met you at a bar, and found you very fun, and you liked me too, so we left and went to the 7/11 and bought a bottle of wine, and sat on the bench under the tree along the staircase, and had a very lovely time.”

“Yes, I did leave that part out,” I admitted. “I did that on purpose. Sometimes I leave things like that out just so we can keep it private between us. Like sharing the bottle of wine in the park. That was just for us. It is not for them. I have to be Betsey Horton for them. When it is just us alone together, I am just Liz.”

“And will you write about our night together tonight?”

“Only if you give your consent.”

“I do not give my consent.”

“Okay, that is fine. I prefer to keep it private between us too. What do you think I should write about instead?”

He thought about it for a moment and said, “The decor at my hotel bar is absolutely terrible. It’s leftover from the 80’s. This hotel is much nicer. I will stay here next time, I think.”

“How bad could it be? Your hotel is very famous. It’s supposed to be one of the best in the world.”

“Come, I will show you.”

So he did. And yes, he was right. That hotel bar was… wow. Yeah, it was bad. I literally felt like I was in a James Bond movie, and not one of the good ones. Definitely one of the weird ones from the 80’s with Roger Moore.

This room was like… dark red velvet walls and carpets with red leather furniture that is way too close to the ground and way too comfortable for lounging. Like, seriously, this is supposed to be a fancy five-star hotel and it looks like a brothel from the 80’s. Right down to the sleezy businessmen hanging out with sex workers dressed up like little girls.

His actual room was only slightly better, but the view was terrible. His window was looking right out at an office building. Not exactly the gorgeous harbor view promised by their official Instagram account. However, there was indeed a gigantic tub that I did recognize from Instagram. I desperately wanted to use it, but did not get the chance to for obvious reasons.

Those reasons being that I was busy with him doing what we were doing. It is what it is. As I departed the next morning, my last words to him were, “My only regret about this night is that I did not get to soak in that giant bathtub.”

🙁 🙁 🙁

And then I did my very well-planned out walk of shame through the Central business district of Hong Kong at lunch hour. I packed an overnight bag so I could freshen up in the morning. Plus, it’s a nice hotel, so they have all the extra toilettries you need available on-hand.

Then I slept all day and now I am here, writing down the story. Well, the parts that we mutually agreed upon that were okay for me to write about. Worry not, fam. I taught him a lesson in the end about Wokeness. I said, “Giving consent is part of woke culture. That is why I am asking you now for your consent.”

He took his time, he thought about it, and now you are reading the version of this story that he consented to. Finally, a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to communicate it! Also, I’m pretty sure he was afraid I was going to eat him alive by the end. You know how us female arachnids do and be…

Did he teach me a lesson? Oh yes, of course he did. He asked me, “There must be a group of people you are racist towards?”

I just smiled at him and said, “Yes. Russians.”

“But Russian is not a race, it’s just a place!”

“Exactly! Look, see how woke you are?”

He just laughed and laughed and laughed…

The End!