The restaurant’s received excellent reviews: real tablecloths, soft lighting, subtle music, intimate seating. Curt was ready for a romantic dinner with Shirley.
They’d just settled into their menus when the maître d’ stuck a drink menu in his face. “Rather presumptuous,” he thought.
Trouble was, Curt didn’t know a Singapore Sling from a London Fog. His eyes glazed as he read vodka this and tequila that, Manhattans and Moscow Mules, ports, Vermouths, and Bloody something. Seemed like at least 1,000 drink options.
Decision time for Curt:
- Act like he knew his alcoholic drinks? or
- Admit he didn’t?
Hold on, there’s romance in this dilemma.
Sometimes we design an excellent Romantic Interlude, which promptly falls apart when the car door opens.
- Some assembly required for the gift.
- The quiet picnic spot is hidden from our GPS.
- Our clever, romantic rhyme doesn’t make sense.
- The menu features Chow Kway Teow.
What do you do? Be authentic and honest.
Authenticity is actually very attractive, very romantic. Being who you really are and confessing you don’t have all knowledge is appealing.
And when you turn this “ignorance” into shared fun, it can lead to a Romantic Interlude.
Curt selected door #2 – be authentic. He conceded his limited liquor expertise. Shirley also confessed her deficient wine wisdom. So, Curt turned ordering drinks into a shared adventure. “Why don’t we figure it out together?” he asked. Together they selected their potion, jumping into the unknown together.
Their drink choice turned out to be the bomb – a stink bomb that is. They both started sputtering on first swallow.
Shirley suggested making a game of it – who could endure the biggest swig. Tears of laughter followed. Then they started creating new names for the drink: Muddy River, Peatbog Passion, Scum Swill.
The evening was saved. A shared memory created, one they recalled regularly. All initiated by Curt’s authenticity.
I dare you to try authenticity. Robert