Date comes out of the Closet.

This happened on the third date, and we hadn't got to the 'let's go home' thing. In fact, I was mentally prepared not to make it to the fourth date, because I was finding it difficult to find interesting facets about my date, and making conversation with guesses is not easy.

I was running late, as usual when Donna called up an hour before the scheduled time, to check if I was goin' to be late 'as usual'. In order to save my non-existent pride, as far as punctuality is concerned, I assured her that she should come atleast 30 minutes late, thereby saving us both the mandatory argument about 'keeping her waiting' and yes, I was going to be late by 15 minutes even then.

With some stroke of luck, it started snowing very heavily, and she got stuck in the traffic, and it was my turn to deliver the 'kept me waiting' kick-off statement. But, I am a Gandhian, and politely showed her the time on my watch, her watch, my celfone, and asked the waiter if the restaurant clock was running fast by any chance. I am not sure whether that was it that triggered what was to follow, or was it something else. I wouldn't be surprised if you guessed what bush I am trying to beat around, but you will be taken aback nevertheless.

Something was fishy about Donna that evening. She seemed normal, but I was beginning to smell something fishy. Call it my clairvoyant nature, or attribute it to the sushi joint that we were sitting at, Huka-Shi-Wa! Nice place, but what a peculiar name. Wonder what it meant!

Donna quips very chirpingly, "Hey, Guess What!?". That's Donna's usual way of starting any conversation, so I have given up guessing. The first time she hit me with that, with a lot of enthusiasm, I started guessing different things, and it turned out that her maternal cousin in Cambodia was chosen to be the chief priest of the temple in that village. How in the 'world' is one supposed to guess that kind of a thing! Another time, she met MaryJane in the train. That was our first date, and I was beginning to resolve, that the next time, I was goin' to guess that 'I was soon not going to be seeing her anymore'. But it never got to that.

So, there I was sipping my cabbage soup, trying hard not to guess anything, as I would be disappointed anyway.

I am a business woman!", with the standard Donna-smile on her face, and this time with a twinkle of excitement in her bright brown contact-lensed eyes.

"Yey, Good for you!", trying desperately not to guess what kind of business she was into. I know for a fact that she dropped out of under-graduate school, because she wanted to pursue more 'aesthetic' interests. Since, I wasn't going to ask her to marry me the next day, I didn't prod much into that. "So what is it that you sell?", I posed, biting into the wasabi dipped sushi rolls, and fiddling with those plastic chopsticks.

"I sell myself." Donna states matter-of-factly. I give my natural reaction when I don't comprehend, "Ok". But she's a nice girl, and seemed very excited at the thought of confiding in me, I add, "But, what is it that you sell, yourself".

"I sell myself.", and she starts giggling with no restraint, at me being non-plussed. Donna speaks good English, but I am not understanding the language now. The verb has to be applied to an object, and either I was going selectively deaf, or Donna was upto her Donna-Tricks. She had referred to one of her previous pranks with that misnomer. I give her the usual I-still-don't-know what you were doing last summer look.

"I wouldn't say I am a prostitute, but most people choose to use that term. I think of it as another form of labor. And it wins me my bread." I was about to stand and clap, as her conviction had me convinced. My Mensa brain kicked in, damnnit, she was an actor, and a might good one too, but why did she choose this topic of flesh-trade to break the news to me, that she had gotten her first break somewhere, some theatre, some movie, I thought.

"Wow, That's some news, so how did all this happen?", retaining my genuine interest, and polishing off the sushi rolls.

"You are not taken aback by that?" She did look a bit taken aback herself though, ironically.

"Taken aback with what", replaying her statement again in my head.

"That I am a prostitute!". She didn't seem to be dicomfitted with that, and it was too late for me to be discomfitted, as I had already congratulated her on being one, just 10 seconds back.

I was beginning to think, that this could be one of those Donna-tricks, which I do not understand. And I wasn't sure, whether I should play along and see how far she went with it, or just fall for it. I decided to fall.

"Wow, That's some news" I didn't know what to say, toying with my wallet.

"You are the first guy who has been so cool with that. It is dignified labor, especially when one is hungry, and besides, I always use contraceptives. Always. So you see, I am very very careful. Always." At that, I began searching my back pockets for that Nobel that I had tucked away during the day.

"What in the world was a dignified laborer doing in the metallurgical sciences section of the public library? It was the Reference Section that I met Donna, or was it Dirty_Donna? I could understand Anatomical Sciences, but Metallurgy for Heaven's sake! I ran through my checklist of top 100 things-to-do in my life before I started with the 101st one, whether dating a body-waiter was one of them. I didn't realize that I was using my chopsticks to knit a sweater with the noodles, by then.

"Uhmm...Well, So how did you get into it". I actually wanted to ask about the connection between metallurgy and sex. I know, I should be annoyed that she didn't tell me this in the first place. But hey, we started off discussing mineral ores in Siberia the first time we met, and the topic about what I do, and what she does for a living never came into the picture. And she said that she was a self-learning student, who didn't want to be registered at school, possibly because of the high tuition. So basically, we didn't get a chance to discuss our bread-winning duties as yet.

"You sure, you are not upset with what I just said." It's been 2 minutes since she has declared 'Huka-Shi-Wa', and I haven't given the reaction that she was anticipating. Hell, what reaction was I to give, even if I had recognized that she was in fact what she said she was.

"Nopes, not really. In fact, I think, it is very honest of you to confide in me.", I retorted matter-of-factly, disguising my astonishment. I was still toying with the connection between metallic ores, and human orifices, and my date.

"Hey, can I ask you one thing, do you put on make-up?", Donna was looking at my face very inquiringly, and a teeny weeny bit of irk.

Nature plays tricks on everybody, by giving them unwanted birth marks. Some people cover up by calling it a 'beauty spot', others have them concealed, with luck, in some unseen part of the body. When it came to me, I can imagine the impish grin on my maker, when he/she must have been saying,"Hey, I have given this one some good sharp features, proper brains, all's well, now give me some clues on how should I mess this one up!". And his boss must have yelled, "Do what the fuck you want, just be creative." So my creative creator, gave me eyes with permanent make-up. My extra long eye lashes curl up way too much, as they have been artificially done to give it a very feminine look. And to provide finishing touches, the eyes give off a super sharp look, thus projecting my eyes onto anybody's impressions, the first time, I look at them. This is not me complaining, but this is me saying what one needs to know, when I replied to Donna.

"Yes, I do." It was my turn to see how she would react.

"But why?" It didn't sound like an exclamation, but more like a curious inspection, and I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, with the lying.

"I have always put on make-up onto my eyes. It's something that I feel comfortable with."

"Errr..Uhmmm...Are you what it means! I don't mean to pry, but you have to make that very clear."

With no clue, what Donna was blabbering now, I blabbered along,"Errr...Uhmmm...Yes. I hope that's alright with you!"

"No, of course not. It is certainly not alright with me. What do you take me for?" Donna was not smiling anymore. She looked glaringly, and with a touch of stern indignation, she muttered, "And, for your kind information, I am not a whore like you think, I was just trying to see your view point on the subject. I wanted to know the psychological setup of my date. And I can very well see that you are messed up."

"Hmmm...I know.", not putting up a defence of any kind. To be honest, I didn't see any point. I didn't even feel like asking what did she think of men who put on make-up, and in what way, did that qualify to be crowned with the adjective 'messed-up'.

"No wonder, you didn't get shocked with my statement, you sick man! I am gonna leave now, and don't bother calling me up. I am not interested in seeing a person like you any more." She flicked some bills out of her purse, and left without having her dessert.

I tossed a coin, for heads, to go after her and tell her that it was a joke, and tails, to finish my dessert. The coin called heads, and I started to sip my cafe, wondering what is it that she thought I was, since I didn't have any idea. And what was a prostitute turned psychology student doing in the metallurgical sciences section.

I tipped the waiter heavily, and made a quick exit, to catch the last Metro to the nearest pub, to hangout with some cooler people.

Fictional Realm!