Went to dinner first at this pancake restaurant. For Dutchies pancakes are like pizzas and can be eaten with any topping your imaginary mind can come up with...fish, maple syrup, shaorma meat, pineapples, honey, anchovies, peanut butter, minced meat, chocolate sprinkles, mushrooms, vanilla ice cream, chicken curry....You name it, and it can be served. Maybe it sounds sickening, but really you wouldn't know until you try it.
Then off we went to her place, where we bored ourself with a not-so-funny-comedy ("Hope Springs"'...not). Thankfully the conversation that followed afterwards about the difference between male and female orgasms took the evening to a roaring climax. I entered the discussion armed with the second-hand knowledge I had consumed over the years through low-budget cliche porn flicks, while she spoke partly out of 'empirical evidence'. Somehow the conversation took another interesting turn and we ended up talking about people who have a fetish for sex with pregnant women. (For those wondering, yes it does exist and is possible.) No, sadly no empirical evidence to back up the discussion...this time we could only discuss our 'research' on 'pregnant sex' based on second-hand hear-say from sources close to us. All the while the channels showed half-naked women dressed in all sorts of clothes (SM, police uniform, school unifrom...) advertising 'hotlines' for your €1.50/minute quick pleasure. Fell asleep, after two am...with a smile on our faces.
Friday night, fun night.
Woke up today with a hang-over for some reason...strange, no alcohol, no spirits of any kind, just tea and coke and way too much chocolate and pretzels, but still really dizzy and groggy. My friend almost even fainted for some reason and had to lie down a while before she felt better. Quick brunch of croissants, baquette, omelette and cup-a-soup, and realised our hopes to pay a visit to the annual flower show at Keukenhof were dashed by the storm-force winds and pouring rain.
We had a few hours to kill until dinner at a friend's place in the evening. We made our way to Den Haag, and prowled the streets in search of a good parting gift. Being a (fashionable) girl my friend of course got distracted by the big sale signs in the shoe and clothe shops that delayed our objective of quickly buying something 'meaningful and not-too-cliche' for the friend who is about the leave the country for good. An hour of wandering around various shops, trying to contain my boredom and carring her bags, we ended up buying a book-- sort of story and picture book about the Netherlands, with all its quirks and anecdotes. Cannabis, the tax-paying prostitution industry, the windmills, cows, tulips...all the things Dutch, all the things so typical here and unique in the world are summed up in that little book. Nice.
A quick drop by at my place, and a stroll through the forest nearby--with the added guide to of the carefree teenage years of David, including: where I had my first kiss, where I first 'fooled around' etc.-- and we made our way to the friend's place for dinner. All the colleagues from where I used to work were there. A house full of academics, researchers and serious conversations. Maybe the freeest and most natural-acting were the three children and one dog that ran around screaming and playing. I watched them with envy, as I sat through various conversations which almost always invariably starts with: "So, what is your line of research...?"
My research? Well, where do I even start? I could tell them about the 'research' my friend and I had the previous night about our observations of sex. But that would not be intellectually stimulating. I could tell them instead that I have no research, and that I'm basically still trying to find myself and what it is that I want to do in life. But that would be intellectually stunted.
In the end I basically repeated to people what I've been doing (and not doing) the past year, which probably lost the incentive for them wanting to talk to me any further.
That's the problem with these gatherings of people working in the academia. With all due respects they know their specialisation, they know what they are talking about, they know how to debate and argue...but to someone who has no clue it's embarrasing and (frankly) bordering on boredom. But they're all really lovely people, really friendly and kind...and the food was good, and so were the drinks. And the 'pre-departure' speech by the friend who is about to leave was really moving. So it wasn't as bad as it sounds.
Then suddenly there someone rang my friend who was hosting us. She couldn't understand a word the other person said, except something about 'van Alkemadelaan'. Well, it was actually someone who dialled the wrong number. But it just so happens that 'van Alkemadelaan' is the name of the street I live in. So the joke somehow started circulating around the room.
'Oh, it must be David's wife and little children starving at home and wondering where he is.'
I just laughed, played along with the joke, felt quite embarrased at all the sudden attention focused on me. When the joke died down and people returned to their intellectual discussions in their little groups again, I turned to my friend and said, with a smile: "If only they knew..."
Yes, if only they knew the 'real' me; the me that is not so shy, not so socially inept, not so uncomfortable in front of people, not so fidgety with his hands, not so nervous-looking. And if they only knew the reasons why I wouldn't possibly have a wife. Not now, not ever.
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