#mrgent

Living in Hollywood, I sometimes get invited to really cool parties. So when I receive a note from a friend that his father is throwing a fete in The Hills, I RSVP +3 and call my girls.

We roll up The Hill and assign ourselves some spots near the pool. Dressed to the nines, we look exclusive and intimidating. But some young gentlemen try their luck and we love it.

By the end of the evening, my sister has the septuagenarian host taking shots of Fireball and we drift out early, because perhaps we are heading to another event.

A few weeks later, I open my email and up pops a message from the Dad:

Dear [DutchByDefault],

At my party you had a conversation with my friend Mr. Gent ……..

He remembers you with interest….!!

Will you allow me to do an email introduction and pass on email/phone?

[Redacted]

To which I respond:

Hello [Redacted]!

I hope you are well!

I may have imbibed in a touch too much champagne that evening, so I’m not entirely sure which lovely gentleman from your party bears that name, but you are welcome to pass on my information.

Best, [DutchByDefault]

P.S. my sister says hello!

Shortly thereafter, I am contacted by Mr. Gent, who suggests we meet up when he returns from Europe. Yes, please!

We decide on coffee, and I have a new place to try. Since I do not remember about whom the Dad was speaking, I shoot him a text that I am wearing a red sweater.

He responds that he “is running late, and he will be the one with a band-aid on his face - to be explained when [he] arrives.”

Now I understand injuries, perhaps better than most. But I’m sorry, if you have a band-aid on your face, shouldn’t you reschedule a blind date until you feel better? I stuff shallow me in the corner, embarrassed that I might care about something so trite as a band-aid.

Ten minutes later, I decide that I should order, because I’m in that weird place where he is tardy and if I don’t get myself a coffee, it might appear as though I am just waiting for him to pay. So I pop into the line and when it’s my turn, I order an Americano.

This place is fancy, and a drink order takes awhile, so of course Mr. Gent shows up while I am still at the counter. He pokes me, and I turn…

AND HE IS A HUNDRED.

AND THERE IS A BANDAGE COVERING HALF OF HIS FACE.

Okay, he is probably sixty (older than my father), and the band-aid is only actually covering a quarter of his face, but I am in shock. Could the Dad possibly think that this is a reasonable set-up?

I ask Mr. Gent what he would like and he says “Tea.” Which I somehow buy for him, because I have already handed the barista my card.

WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON??

We sit for about an hour and he is lovely company that I will never see again. He is educated, interesting and kind. He is probably a terrific father for his 20-something-year-old kids. And he had an unfortunate bout with skin cancer, which is hopefully under control at this point.

I do not have daddy issues. I support myself and I am not looking to be saved by an old man.

While I cannot blame Mr. Gent for taking a shot, I do not think this is reasonable, and I am angry with the Dad. But he has great parties, so I will suck this one up.