Raspberry Beret (Part I)

The kind you find in a secondhand store...

The kind you hope not to find on the head of your date.

But that's exactly what I found on the head of my most recent frog, who we're going to call Beret Frog, because I don't have a symbol for The Frog Formerly Known As Prince on my keyboard.

The trouble began when we first discussed where to meet for our date after some friendly internet banter. I suggested coffee; he countered with dinner. That's fine with me; I am staunchly pro free food. I told him I live in Manhattan. He suggested a nearby Chinese buffet.

Nearby his house.

In the far reaches of Brooklyn.

Where he lives with his mother.

In case you were wondering: No, I do not learn from my previous mistakes.

For those of you who are not familiar with New York City geography, the city is made up of five regions known as boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Bronx, and Staten Island. Technically, it's all one city, but each borough might as well be its own continent. Manhattanites rarely leave their cozy little island, and residents of other boroughs pretty much only leave to go to Manhattan.

NYC dating etiquette (as determined by a very scientific poll of friends who came over for dinner one night last week) dictates that, when two people live in different boroughs, the man will travel to the woman's borough for at least the first date.

Not only did Beret insist that I go to his borough, he wanted me to go an hour and a half into his territory. Back where I'm from, an hour and a half of travel puts you in a different state!

We compromised on an Italian restaurant in a neutral territory of Brooklyn equidistant from our homes. He asked for my phone number "in case something came up". It seemed a reasonable request.

I didn't realize that "something" would come up every single day of the week before our date. From restaurant choice to reservation times, Beret could not seem to get the details of this date right.

After a few days and multiple ignored phone calls, the big day arrived. I showed up at the cute little Italian restaurant

and waited. For 20 minutes.

I left a message on his answering machine explaining that I would wait for ten more minutes before leaving, and was preparing to give up when a car pulled up in front of the restaurant.

I saw that the driver was an older woman and looked away to continue my search for the elusive Frog. When I glanced back, I saw a male figure exiting the car.

A male figure who looked suspiciously like the photos I had viewed online.

A male figure wearing a red silk suit with a red beret.

A male figure who had just been dropped off for our date by his mother.

I could tell this was going to be a fun evening.