It had been six months since I broke up with my ex-boyfriend, who also happens to be my colleague. Just looking at his smug face boils my blood. ‘Enough is enough. What happened to real men? Where have they gone? Can someone point me in their direction, please?’ I said sarcastically in a loud tone. Shelly, my office bestie, who had been patiently listening to me, suddenly swooshed her office chair next to mine. She held my shoulders, peered into my eyes and said, ‘You’re driving me crazy. If you sulk about him again, my ears will bleed. I know just what you need.’  Saying that, she swooshed back to her desk without another word.

As the weekend approached, Shelley sent me a text. It was the details of a blind date she set up for me. The rendezvous was at a nearby popular restaurant, “The Velvet Rose”. The reservation for two at 7.30 pm was also confirmed. My date would be dressed in crimson red, I was told. Shelley also booked a car to pick me up at 6.30 pm.

At 6.25. I found myself staring into the only mirror in my house. I wore a classic little black dress, which accentuated my bosom and hugged my curves. I smoked my eyes and wore crimson lipstick. With golden dangly hoops and matching black heels and a little pocketknife in my bag, I was ready to go.

I prayed before sitting in the car, asking for this man to ignite a fire in my loins and burn the cobwebs tonight. I also prayed that he would not turn into a serial killer who targets unmarried women in their thirties. 

The last thing I want is to end up being a headline in tomorrow’s newspaper. 

The car stopped outside the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, I gingerly stepped out.  An ever-smiling hostess escorted me to a cozy corner that had a small table with two chairs. Velvet roses adorned the wall behind.  It was dimly lit. 

Settling down, I waited for this mystery man, chewing my bottom lip in nervousness, and fear mixed with hope. 

What if this stranger turns out to be a flashy man, with no taste and no brains? What if we have nothing to talk about? 

Lost in my stream of thoughts, I was suddenly interrupted. I looked up, expecting a half-balding guy who had tried to suck in his tummy, smiling foolishly, flashing yellow teeth. But here was a woman dressed in a crimson gown. She smiled at me sultrily and sat down. 

Shaking in utter disbelief and utter shock, I weakly muttered, “ There must have been some mistake, I was expecting a man tonight, and I’m not into women. Please excuse me.” 

As I got up to leave, the woman held my hand and pulled me back into my seat. “The night is young, the roses are yet to bloom, why not stay and explore where it might take us?” Honestly, there was something about her voice and the way she carried herself that compelled me to sit down. Pleased with my decision, she continued, “‘Companionship and intimacy are not governed by genders but by the connection a soul chooses to make. You have been so disappointed by men; why not seek the other end of the spectrum?” As she said this, she was just inches away from my lips. I felt my body electrified. It was something I had never experienced before. I did not realize the minutes turned to hours. But when the clock struck 12 am, she frantically gathered her things and rose. The confident exterior she had until now was suddenly a disheveled chaos. She lifted her gown and, with a final look at me, sprinted out of the restaurant. I hastily got up and followed her out, only to find one of her crimson heels lying at the entrance. Where did she go? Should I be picking up her heels? Before I could guess the answer to any of these questions, I was handed a big fat bill from the hostess.

I reached home, kicked my heels off and dropped dead on the sofa. I still couldn’t forget her soft yet enticing smile, the parts of my body she had casually grazed with her fingers. Maybe I do want to go to the other side of the spectrum. But before that, I need to have a long chat with Shelly and find out what the hell she was thinking when she set me up with the Crimson Cinderella.