I had a feeling that we were in third date territory. And we all know what that means. They'd gotten through the basics. It was "go" time. By the looks of her outfit, button front silk blouse, short, but not slutty skirt and teetering sharp pointed heels that screamed CFM, she knew it too, and was doing her best to facilitate the circumstances of that arrangement. This was no dinner date, this was all about preliminaries; a pretense to what would come next. At least it was for her. He ordered a bottle of wine. Two glasses were placed in front of them and the ritual began, cut the foil, wipe the top, remove the cork, present the cork, pour a taste, wait for acceptance. The ritual is well known. The gentleman spent a long time examining the cork, then an impossibly long time swirling the wine in the glass before leaning over and taking a huge whiff as if it were oxygen on an atmosphere less moon. "I'm what they call a supertaster*," he said. His date barely noticed. She was still in the flush of early infatuation, when almost anything goes. He then took a long sip, making a gargling sound as if he was mouthwash rinsing. He then handed his glass to her, before claiming the other empty glass as his own. I was now confused as to which glass was his, and which glass was hers. Apparently the ritual is not as well known as I had previously thought. "Supertasters are more perceptive," he intoned. She hung on his every word. He went on to describe supertasting in great detail. "We sense things differently. We have strong dislikes, especially when it comes to bitter foods. I never liked coffee, or grapefruit, or brussels sprouts or even spinach," he continued. After about five minutes, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she returned, her cheeks had reddened as if by magic and her blouse had apparently lost a button or two. As a result her newest Victoria's Secret purchase was on full display. "Where was I?" he said barely missing a beat. "We supertasters have more papillae on our tongues," he continued. "Thowse are the tiny bumpths that contain the taste budthss", he said sticking out his tongue and pointing them out. She leaned in close and touched his arm. "Really," she said in a hushed, breathy, whisper. A few more minutes on his supertasting ability and she once again excused herself to go the bathroom. She returned with freshly rouged lips, clearly adjusted hair but nary a button out of place. He sat staring at the wine in his glass, swirling it like a chemist on amphetamines. "Oh," he said looking up and noticing her. "Like I was saying, only one in four people are supertasters," he continued. She leaned over and tucked something into his suit jacket's breast pocket. It stayed there while he made his point. When he finished he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Even from six feet down the bar I recognized the little lacy black ball for what it was. He held it up for a second before he too realized that it was not just wadded up black tissue paper, it was another Victoria's Secret purchase. One of a much more intimate nature. He tucked it back into his pocket before continuing on about his supertasting abilities. When they finally left some 45 minutes later, she seemed to have had enough of those supertasting abilities. Her blouse was buttoned up to the neck and I'm guessing that the rest of her unmentionables were back securely where they started out. After paying the bill, he followed her out the door, not quite grasping what had gone wrong. If he ever makes way back to the bar I'll give him four pointers, if he lets me get a word in. 1) If you are on a date and she hands you her unmentionables, you might want to act promptly. Frostbite can set in during any perceived lull. 2) Just because you are "super" in one area of perception, doesn't mean that you are "super" in all areas of perception. 3) Not all rituals are known to all people. 4) Sometimes the only thing necessary to guarantee a "sure thing" is knowing when to keep your mouth shut. *You can find out if you are a supertaster by going to supertastertest.com.

The Sure Thing