Cisca: Joint decisions

Last Saturday night, a fellow Beau Hunter and I were in an Amsterdam piano bar fighting off the remnants of a Bachelor Party as we danced and sang the night away. I had unofficially given up the official beau hunt and had decided to focus on past dating exploits for Beau Dacious so as not to let the side down… I was not even able to get the number of a squint barman earlier in the evening… Was he actually looking at me?

Somewhere between a really crummy rendition of Billy Joel’s Piano Man and the obligatory murdering of Summer Nights by all those in attendance, a Delightful Dutch Boy (henceforth referred to as DDB) asked me for my phone number and, with Bombay Sapphire-fuelled bravado, I gave it to him.

One flirty text lead to several others back and forth between us and, by mid-week, I was being asked out on a first date. DDB gallantly asked me what I would like to do and, having noticed in our mutual social network stalking that he had embarked on fitness challenge, and I myself being gym enthusiast keen on trying Hash Running, I smugly suggested we try hashing on the Sunday afternoon.

Quite pleased with my strong, sporty, fun, unique and social suggestion I was surprised when DDB said that hashing would make him too tired and that perhaps we should meet before. Well, of course 7kms of running and intermittent drinking would make you tired… What kind of a fitness regime was he on? Trying to hide my disappointment (and trying to save face) I countered that he was perhaps right and that we should wait until at least second date before pulling out the spandex. We bandied about a few more ideas, including sushi, cocktails and music, and discussed where we should meet, before he swiftly added: “But I don’t smoke hash in my house because it smells!”

Hash. Pot. Dagga. Weed. Hash-Sheesh! Naturally DDB thought that I was like most other expats trying to take full advantage of all that Amsterdam has to offer – and I mean all – and that when I had suggested hashing, I wanted to get stoned on our first date. It turned out that he was quite relieved that I had actually wanted to go running, but by that time I had pulled out of the idea of wearing spandex on a first date too… I decided instead that I really didn’t want to be the expat taking the lead on this one and that, when in Rome, I actually wanted to go Dutch… So to speak.

Hash. Pot. Dagga. Weed. Hash-Sheesh! Naturally DDB thought that I was like most other expats trying to take full advantage of all that Amsterdam has to offer – and I mean all – and that when I had suggested hashing, I wanted to get stoned on our first date.

We have made the joint decision that DDB will choose the time, place and activity and take me on a typical Dutch date… What that is I don’t yet know but I do know that it won’t include any more hash ups!

Cisca is our lady in Amsterdam. To find out more about our Beau Hunters, go here.

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