114) love old fashioned Written by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334 79 74

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Love old fashion Quickly to the flower shop, a red rose. Elvis Presley's song "Give her a red rose" rang in his ears. He was a little excited because he hadn't met her, as he had done before, at work, at a wedding or via a marriage institute. These companies had all gone bankrupt when the internet came along and the new ones just called themselves “dating-agency”. There wasn't a pretty, female consultant there who whispered tips on what to write in order to appear in the best light. Now you had to think for yourself. Then ten thousand electronic messages, called e-mails, were exchanged. Here he learned to write like Cyrano de Bergerac, actually already knew everything about her, and had lied a thousand times. Well! How does “man” persuade “woman”? That cost nerves, time and energy. She had sent a photo, but of course, that wasn't a guarantee, probably improved in the same way as his own. It was winter and the roses in the shop came by plane from Africa, they were still cheaper than growing them here in the glasshouse. He, too, had had to change jobs a few times because it was cheaper to have work done in developing countries, or because an immigrant was willing to take on the job for a lower wage. He didn't like this global world. Now he was fifty and had to keep studying. Every evening he sat at home after work and studied English or something new for his profession. Why did he have to learn another language? Wasn't German the most beautiful, expressive and difficult in the world? He chose a nice, big rose with a long stalk. Another quick cigarette and then some chewing gum. In his youth, smoking was still male. Marlboro advertisement: A cowboy on his horse and the wide prairie in front of him. He arrived there ten minutes before the appointed time. He had thought that the place she suggested was a quiet place, but some people were already standing here. Ripped jeans, girls almost in bikini, a diversity of colours. However, they all had one thing in common, they were younger than he was and they carried a cell phone in their hands, either to read something, or to write something or to play. He pulled his article from the Washington Post, which he wanted to read. But why had he actually pulled it out of his pocket? He knew very well that he couldn't concentrate on that now. Maybe so as not to give the impression that he was waiting for her after all. A glance at his expensive watch told him it wasn't that far. He held the rose and felt the thorns. Why did such a beautiful thing have to be so prickly? Who is suffering more, the rose that keeps its worshipers away with its thorns, or the worshipers who prick themselves? Probably both the same, just differently. Now he noticed a person on the opposite side of the square who looked like the one he was waiting for. It had to be her because the agreed marks, rose and newspaper in his hand, and her hat, indicated it. She was pretty on time, only three minutes late, that was nothing. One of her positive qualities, or just the importance of the meeting? It would turn out. He didn't give her a kiss on the mouth yet, only one on the left and right cheek, while he put his hand lightly around her waist and tenderly pulled her closer. She didn't fend off, let herself be guided. Then he presented the rose. The paper around the stalk was a little reddened, so she quickly took out two handkerchiefs, one for the rose and the other for his hand. The first words and touches had been exchanged, it couldn't have gone any better. As part of the program for the evening, he had actually thought of a concert or the theatre, but she had declined because she said that there would be many opportunities later on when they would have less to say to each other and needed to share new experiences. Therefore, at her request he took her to a small, cosy inn. It wasn't that expensive either because as a modern woman, she had insisted on paying half the bill. It was also evident, judging her job that she earned more than he did. The waiter came, brought the menu, and turned to her. A light, dry white wine. He agreed. Of course, immediately the next problem arose: what should he eat with it? She ordered fish with rice and cucumber salad, he just nodded. He had to get used to this cultural shock. No beer, no roast beef with fried potatoes, no whiskey afterwards, and above all no cigarettes. What a world! She didn't understand anything about baseball either, preferred to watch tennis, and took part in aerobics classes three times a week. A bit of modern painting and esotericism, Mozart's Don Giovanni in a Porsche with Donna Elvira in a bikini, “Saul's son” had to be seen, she was “up to date”. He would have to continue his education in this direction and supplement his half-culture with another. She noticed that he did not belong to the same class of society, did not frequent the same circles. Each period of time had its own symbols. In his mother's time, it had been a moped, Elvis, and miniskirts. The woman sitting before him would be a clown in fifty years. Only the baseball and beer seemed to be forever. After dinner a walk through the park around the small, artificial lake, better than along the river bank, because at least there weren't that many mosquitos here. She wore the light jacket slung over her handbag so that the shoulders and the skin over the bosom were exposed. The thin dress was tight. The shoulder muscles had sagged a bit, around the hips only a few pounds too much, the behind more flat and the skin porous, but still okay for her age. That matched his flat chest, small beer belly, and thin arms. They liked each other. Why did they need each other? Maybe more so that one doesn't have to spend the weekend and vacation alone. They agreed on the next meeting. He later took her to her car and walked home. Back to list!

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