“I Won’t Hold it Against You that You are ABC!”

Excerpt from Diary of a Single Asian Female: Adventures in New York City by Candy Chan, available on Amazon Kindle and in paperback.

“I Won’t Hold it Against You that You are ABC!”

Email from Greg, the reluctant suitor:

Dear Candy,

I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you at Barnes and Noble about a year ago.  I spoke to you for a few minutes about a book, and you gave me your email.  Then, we emailed each other about the book.  I’ve been meaning to write but didn’t know if you were interested.  As you can see, I am good in business, but not in other areas, especially matters of the heart.  Let me know if you are interested in getting together.

Greg

I remembered Greg.  I was hoping he would call, as he was very polite and good-looking.  I can’t believe he didn’t have the confidence to ask me out right after we met.  What’s more puzzling is that he still kept my email in his inbox after a whole year (his email today was a reply to my email from a year ago).  Do I come across to most men I meet as being not interested?  Why do they not call me back?

Dear Greg,

Great hearing from you.  Thanks for remembering me after a whole year.  Sure, I would be interested in getting together.  Here’s my number.  Call me.

Candy

“Hello, Candy.  It’s Uncle Greg.”

 “Hi, Greg.”

 “Are you still the same?”

 “I guess so.”

 “Still ravishing?”  he asked.

 Ravishing?  If he thought I was so ravishing, how come he didn’t call until a year later?  Weirdo.

 “Oh, absolutely,” I said.  “I got a great haircut the other day.  I’ve been working out, taking care of myself.”

 “That’s good.  You looked fabulous.”

 “Thanks.  So what have you been up to since I saw you?  Gone on any dates?”

 “Yeah.  I went on a few dates, but I’m busy with my business.  I took out this woman from China, and she was nice.  I’m not the best on dates.  You know?  I get afraid.”

 “Oh," I said.

 “So when I get a chance, I will call you to take you out.  Maybe we will grab a bite to eat or something.”

 “Okay.”

Greg called the next day.  “Are you free for dinner later?”

I quickly consulted The Rules.

Rule #7:  Don’t Accept a Saturday Night Date After Wednesday

Oh, what the hell?!  Let’s break that rule.  Plus, it’s not a Saturday night date.  It’s a Friday night date.

“Sure, where should I meet you?”

 “I’ll come to pick you up.”

 It just so happened that the family I worked for was having a family night out.  So, I was free to go to dinner with Greg.

 Greg picked me up in an Audi.  He was as tall and handsome as the last time we met. 

 He said, “Hello, Candy.”

 I got into his car.  He could have been a serial killer, but my gut told me he was cool.

 “Hi, Greg,” I said.

 He kissed me on the cheek.  How sweet.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine and you?”

 He looked so fine, and I wondered why he was single. 

I mean: Tall, check.

Handsome, check.

Drives a nice car, check.

Smells good, check.

“I’m fine.  Good to see you again.  You hungry?”

“Yes,” I replied. 

Not really hungry, kind of nervous, but what are you supposed to say to that?

“I’m going to take you to Bingo, in Chinatown,” he said.

“Oh, ok,” I said. 

That was not the usual date place guys usually pick.  They like to choose fancy restaurants.  But Greg was hot, and I was curious to see where this would lead.

Greg drove downtown to Chinatown. 

He ran a red light, and there was a traffic camera that flashed.

“Oh man, did you see that flash?”

 “Yes, that’s why I use the Waze app.  It tells you where the cops and red light cameras are,” I said.

“Really?  Wow, I need that!  I’m always getting pulled over,” he exclaimed.

We reached Chinatown, my old home.  Memories flooded through my head. Greg found parking, and we walked over to Bingo.  With a name like Bingo, you know it’s not going to be Del Posto.  Bingo was a hole in the wall authentic Chinese restaurant with oily laminated photos of the food all over the walls, and plastic soup containers full of chopsticks on the tables.  When you walked in, you were greeted by jugs and buckets of what looked like soy sauce and MSG.  Not much for aesthetics, this restaurant.  Chinese music piped through the speaker.

 “Liǎng rén zhuō,” he said.  Table for two.

The ladies who worked there said ni hao hello to him as if he frequented this place often. What’s his story? 

“I travel often to Taiwan, and I met the most beautiful woman there. I was going to marry her, but she died,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I was heartbroken.  She was the love of my life,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.” Greg wiped a tear.

 “I’m so sorry,” I didn’t know what else to say.  I patted his arm.

 “Well, I’m still trying to get over her. What’s your story?”

“I grew up in New York, went to school here,” I said.

“Oh.  I won’t hold it against you that you are ABC,” he said, looking at me in the eye, not really giving me the look of interest that other people have given me.  I didn’t get the feeling that he liked me like that.  Plus, I am not an American Born Chinese.  I am an immigrant who has assimilated well.  I thought that was a plus.

“Let’s get some kong xin tsai and some chòu dòufu, and you pick a dish too,” he said.

“You know about kong xin tsai and chòu dòufu?”

“Yes, I go to Taiwan all the time!”

“I love chou doufu!  I used to eat it as a kid in Taiwan!”

“Yeah, I love it.  What dish are you going to pick?”

“How about the seafood pan-fried noodles?”

“Hǎixiān chǎomiàn,” he said to the waiter.

He was really Chinese!  Kong xin tsai tastes like buttery spinach but with a crispy thin stalk, sort of like spinach with crunch.  They only sell it in Chinatown.  Chou doufu is fried stinky tofu with pickled cabbage, garlic, vinegar, soy sauce, and hot sauce. It smells and tastes really pungent.  It’s an acquired taste. I was starting to really like him!  Very few white guys in America with an appreciation for chou doufu!

“We need more tea.”  He opened the teapot to signal that he wanted more tea.  OMG, he was more Chinese than me! 

He entertained me with more stories of his adventures in Taiwan and China and dates in New York, including a story about the toilets in China being troughs.  I lost my appetite at the thought of such toilets since I had memories of such toilets in Taiwan.  I tried to be pleasant and giggled at his jokes.  At some point, he said, “I’m shen jing bing.” I’m a mental case.

“Shen jing bing!  Haha!”  I laughed again.  I batted my eyelashes at him since I kind of liked him.  As I said, he was really cute, with these muscular arms and thick fringed sensuous eyes.  AND he was so into Asian culture and spoke the language!  My mama would love him! “I really love ballroom dancing.  Do you dance?” he said. 

 “Not really,” I said.

“You should try it.  It is great exercise and wonderful for socializing.  I go to the dance parties in Flushing, Queens with my group and made lots of friends,” he explained.

Maybe he was right.  I should take up ballroom dancing instead of going on these dating websites to meet someone.

“Mai dan!” he gestured for the check to the waiter.  He drove me home.  When he dropped me off, he asked, “May I have a kiss?”  I kissed him.

“Have a good evening, maybe we can go dancing some time,” he said.

Later he texted me.  I thought he was going to ask me out again because he had a good time.  Guys do that.

“What is that app that lets you see where the cops are?”

“Waze.  But it only lets the passenger use it.  I would love to be a passenger again in your car!”

“LMAO.”

LMAO?  What does that mean?  What’s he laughing his ass off about?  I was serious about being his passenger again.  I pictured us navigating through the entire United States on road trips, with him driving his Audi and me with my Waze app, warning him about the cops and the red light cameras, not to mention the hazards on the road, and thanking my fellow Wazers for all the warnings.  Perhaps, I’d post some caveats myself.

I waited for Greg to call again.  When I did not hear from him, I pondered what was wrong with me.  He did say that I was ABC.  I was not born in America, so he was wrong about that.

Was I not Chinese enough for him? I looked Chinese, that’s for sure.  He even said I was ravishing!   Maybe I needed to be more Chinese.  I saw on the street that they had copies of China Daily, and I paid $1 for a copy.  I started reading China Daily every day.  This was in addition to the New York Times I read because Dr. James stopped calling.  I became very up-to-date on current events and Chinese business news both nationally and internationally.  I can’t win with these guys!  I was not cultured enough American-wise for some men, yet not Chinese enough for others.

Then, I called up Dance with Me, a dance studio in SoHo, and they were offering a free class, so I signed up. The dance instructor, Marco, was a gorgeous man with dark hair who was great at dancing.  He was suave, sort of like a Latin lover that you see in the movies.  He taught me how to waltz and we glided through the floor like in the Disney movies.  Maybe Greg would like me better if I knew how to dance.  I felt like I was on Dancing with the Stars!  This feeling did not come cheap. Marco tried to sell me a package of lessons for $1000.  Alas, that was out of my budget.  If I won the lottery, I would pay him to dance with me, for sure.  I did notice there were several older ladies from the suburbs who were there to dance with the young men at the dance studio. 

I signed up for a group ballroom dance class at Arthur Murray through Classpass.  Most of the students there were couples trying to prepare for their weddings.  The other single student in the class was a sweaty, sort of soft Caucasian man with glasses, and I felt uncomfortable holding on to him.  I realized that dancing is a very intimate act.  Unlike the professional dance instructor, it was not graceful dancing with him.  I wiped my hands of his sweat when I moved on to the next guy. We would trade partners every few minutes. What did the brides do that’s I’m doing wrong?  How come I don’t have a groom of my own to dance with?

Rule #2: Don’t Talk to a Man First and Don’t Ask Him to Dance

I learned how to dance in preparation for our next date.  However, Greg did not call me for our date. Well, even though Rule #2 states that you are not supposed to ask a man to dance, I wasn’t really asking him to dance.  Only to remind him of our dance date.

“Hi, Greg, it’s Candy,” I said.

“Hi, Candy,” he replied.

“So, I’ve been taking dance lessons to prepare for our dance date,” I informed him.

“Well, I thought about it, and you are too Americanized for me.  I’m looking for the real thing, an authentic Chinese girl,” he said.

“But I am an authentic Chinese girl!  My 23andMe DNA results tell me so!”

“You are ABC,” he said, implying that I was an imposter and a fake.

 “I was not born here!”

We quickly hung up.

See what I mean?  That’s what you get for breaking the Rules! 

Excerpt from Diary of a Single Asian Female: Adventures in New York City by Candy Chan, available on Amazon Kindle and in paperback.