A planned restaurant date is transformed in a role reversal
Here you are! All dressed up
To take me out to dinner, our very first date
Even more handsome than in your corporate office.
So dapper, dignified, distinguished,
so impeccably dressed and groomed
In your deep blue Armani business suit
Burgundy silk tie, starched white shirt,
Monogrammed gold cufflinks.
I look down at your
Polished black leather Italian captoe Oxford shoes
"You can't go like that" you say,
looking at my casual attire.
You smirk, glancing at me,
Your Porsche waits outside
Well, I have news for you....
I changed my mind
"What?" You start..
Yes - changed my mind.
We will stay home tonight.
You will cook dinner for me right here.
You are stunned.
I have a reservation at the finest restaurant
I know everyone there
And I don't know how to cook!
I know you're joking..
You must be."
No. No joke.
Give me those keys to your Porsche.
I open a plastic bag.
I reach for your hand.
You hold tightly to the keys,
But I hold and your grip loosens.
Your eyes are confused now
Not as clear and certain
What is this?
"This will not work" you try to be reasonable.
Your voice deep and condescending.
"Give me my keys and dress appropriately
for the restaurant.
I will wait"
I ignore you.
You have no power here.
You’re not in your office now.
You're not behind the wheel of your Porsche.
You are not in your house.
Your car keys vanish into the bag.
Now, take off your Rolex wristwatch.
You don't need to know the time.
You are on MY schedule.
And your iphone
No need to look at that phone.
I will take that from you as well.
"I need my watch"
But my hand is already sliding up your hand to your wrist
And unfastening that silver watch.
"Not my phone. I have to answer texts and calls"
You try to sound serious
But I reach inside the tailored suit jacket
and pluck your phone.
You give up your keys with the Porsche symbol,
The gold and red crest,
Your heavy masculine watch,
Your top-of-the- line streamlined phone.
They all go into the bag.
Time to get cooking.
Recipe is here.
Potatoes are there.
No, don't complain.
Oh! And one more thing.....
I look down at your beautiful shoes.
Take off those expensive shoes and socks.
Your eyes widen. Your handsome face turns red, then pale.
"No - not my shoes" you murmur.
"Not barefoot. My dignity. My status. I cannot work in my bare feet"
I want to see the cuffs of your
navy blue business suit
brushing the cuffs of your
I tell you that I don't like the
sound of the smart clock of your shiny black leather shoes
as you walk
on my shiny floor.
Your broad shoulders drop.
You sit down.
You untie your polished shoes.
I open the bag.
You sigh and drop them,
the left and the right,
Into the depths.
You are irritated, annoyed, frustrated,
As you obey, resisting all the way.
Your gleaming polished shoes,
still warm from your feet.
You peel off your thin black dress socks,
the dress socks professional men wear.
Drop them, black silk ribbons,
in with your shoes, watch, keys, phone.
I know it is frightening for a man
like you to surrender his shoes
and by the way
I do LOVE the shoes...
They just don't belong on your
feet right now
You call the restaurant and cancel.
Shoeless and carless.
Suddenly a servant.
I’ll read the recipe.
While you peel the potatoes.....
In your perfect business suit and tie.
Barefoot in my kitchen.