I took The Stranger out to dinner the other night. A third date. It was her birthday, so I took her to Mooza for a nice night in their breezy outdoor garden.

One of the dangers of writing this site so publicly is that the people you date may read it. I had a girl tell me point blank "I googled you, I couldn't believe how much I found out about you, I'd really rather learn it for myself" shortly before leaving me. I've had friends leave me (Kevin springs to mind) over things that I've said here, and I've had fights with girlfriends over miscommunications here. So I'm understandably a bit hesitant to write about my very personal life here. But you, my beautiful yet vulturous readers, have demanded it. Plus, I asked The Stranger if I could write about her and she said that I could.

I do know that The Stranger reads this site, because she had an interesting and very insightful question for me.

Halfway through dinner and three quarters of the way through a bottle of White, she asked "So, who is Megan?"
"Which one? Megan or Meghan?"
"I don't know, the beautiful one on your website."
"That doesn't help. Blond or Brunette?"
"I don't remember."
"There's two."
"I gathered."
"They're both really pretty."
"The one you called amazing the other day."
"Ah. That's my best friend's exgirlfriend's roommate."
"Did you and she have a thing?"
"Not really, no."
"The way you wrote about her, that she's so amazing and so on, it sounds like you had a thing with her. That she always knows where the party is. That that's the sort of girl you're looking for."
I laughed.
"Ah. That."
"Yeah."
"No no no. She's a friend. What I was saying about her always knowing a good place to go for a drink is that she's a former bartender at some top level clubs. Not that I want to date her. Yes, she's beautiful, but so are you. That's never my criteria for women."
"Ok..." she hesitantly agreed.

Dinner proceeded well from there, we finished our wine, some Mussels and the wonderful Tuna that they serve. Lingering in our wine and company induced haze, she looked me square in the eye.

"You're looking at all the other girls here."
"I am."
"Wow. You admit it."
"Well, yeah. I am. I have a hard time looking at anything for too long."
"You're looking at the other girls." This seemed to amuse her.
"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No. Because you admit it. If you didn't admit it, I'd be upset."
"I'm looking at the other girls, but I'm here with you. Who wins?"
"Which ones in particular?" which began her delving into the depths of what sorts of women I like.

A few minutes later, we were playing the "what about her" game that at the same time entertains, embarasses and informs.
"The girl with the black hair, she looks like she doesn't take shit from anybody, what about her?"
"Not my type. Something about her."
"The girls at the next table?"
"They're in the giving-guys-shit business." The obliged us by toasting to powerful women and having men buy them things a few seconds later.
"The blond over there by herself?"
"She's cute. I don't have a thing for blondes." The Stranger is, of course, a blonde. "I just like women with good personalities." It's true.
"Well, it's fun to look."
"Sure. That's why I've been looking. Can I kiss you now?"
"Are you gonig to come to me, or am I going to come to you?"
"I'll meet you in the middle."