Season Two, Ep 2: "Keep Your Pants On"

  And now, a tailor made monologue by Dave Eames Harlan, who quite possibly, is the best writer for women out there.  No one gets it like this man.  I tip my hat to you sir.  

WOMAN

"Keep your pants on." Seriously. He said that to me.

SERIOUSLY?! I'm used to them - boys, men, dates - wanting

them to come off. Not that I WANTED him to bed me.

Necessarily. Yet. "Bed me." God. That's another turn of

phrase. I thought it was a good first date though. At first.

He opened the cab door for me. Touched my elbow lightly -

guiding me perhaps. Not helping exactly. But there TO help

should it be needed. I wondered if he was looking at my

legs. The skirt did show them to advantage. "Show them to

advantage." What am I from the fifties? I suspected, though,

he was looking at my legs.

(Beat)

That's not vanity. That's knowledge of human nature. HuMAN

nature. I've seen 'em all: Boys who thought they were men;

Men who acted like boys; Boys who didn't care if they were

nothing but boys (They can be fun in the right

circumstances.) But this man was a man. Old...er. Let's say

late thirties - chronologically. Maybe a Highlander-era Sean

Connery in attitude. So yeah, he handed me into the cab. He

offered his hand to me as I was getting out. He deftly

danced around me to get the restaurant door. He even held my

chair and... scooted me to the table. It was nice. Sweet.

Dare I say romantic? But I was beginning to wonder if it, if

he, was too much when he ordered for me. What am I, 10?

(Pause.)

I half-expected him to take my Ossobucco alla Milanese and

mince it it into tiny, little easily chewable chunks while

making little mewing noises. But he didn't and dinner was

tasty. I, again, thought there might be... possibilities.

(Reflective pause.)

Then? Then he ordered a desert wine. I made the mistake of

saying I'd never had a desert wine. The waitron poured. I

took the glass. I lifted it. And... wait for it... he put

his hand over my glass. "uh uh. Patience," He said. "You

have to wait. You need to let it breathe." I thought -

loudly - "I'm a writer. I'm educated. I have a terminal

degree! I can freaking decide when I want to drink a glass

of wine" as he went on to explain about tannins and legs and

sugar content and... oxidation. "I'd really just like to

drink it." And that's when he said it with a smile and a

wink and a chuckle in a singsongy kindergarten teacher

voice: "keep your pants on." I wanted to punch him.

(This might take some time.)

So yeah, that's why I probably shouldn't have slept with

him.

(Beat. A breath. A memory.)

He's got great eyes. I think it was the wink that did it. I

hope he calls soon.