MR ACORN

As promised, here we go with the first of a series of men I’ve met in these last months, all met in different ways and places, that all however seem to be magically linked by the fact that…
Well, I’m not gonna spoil it for you. 😉

So, as you must know by now, I’ve been busy flat hunting and selling my property, and when it came to this particular stage my friend and co-owner Emanuele and I decided to put our trust in a small, not yet that well-known estate agency, Acorn, much smaller than Foxton or Haart or whatever. My friend felt there was something cute about a small agency, while I simply thought they were the ones asking for the lower commission on the sale… and also that Mr Acorn was quirky and weird in the right amount to make my interest antennae go up. acorn2

(By the way, this immediately proves once more, to those friends of mine that say: “You are gonna meet him when you least expect it”… Nothing less true than this, for me. I had squared meters, balconies, proximity to the station, years of the leasehold in mind, and yet I was hoping that each agent I was going to meet, or each person selling the flat I was about to see, could be The One. Basically, I never stop believing that every moment can be the life changing one.)

But let’s continue with Mr Acorn. Not my type physically, with his blond hair and blue eyes, thin, as tall as me. But he is bubbly, energetic, and immediately throws in the conversation that he had run away from his family when he was 12 (as you do), had lived in a car for some time… All charming details that equally make me go “Oh, poor him”, but also “Mmh, these guy must have interesting stories to tell, and an original view on life”.

The second time he comes round to take pictures of my flat to put online, we chit chat. He asks me what I am doing that evening, and I say that I actually had a date (that by the way went well, but I rarely blog about the good things that happen… who wants to read them? People sadically enjoy reading other people’s misfortunes, so they can feel better about their lives. Don’t hide it. I’m with you! But you, Welsh guy who was passing by in London after travelling for a bit, deeply interested in psychology and probably now in California working in a weed plantation… You know who you are, and if you are reading this, drop me a mail!Let me know how you are doing!)

Sorry, I keep diverging. So, Mr Acorn asks me what I am doing that night, I say that I have a date, and he goes all surprised: “Oh, you date? I thought you and you friend, the other owner of the house…” I tell him that my friend belongs to that part of the population that can be quickly labelled as “altra sponda”, “cazzo sprecato” or, more elegantly, “wasted meat”, or, to use one of our jokes, that rather than a homeowner, he is a HOMO-owner. Once the gayness of my friend is clear, and understood that I’m single, he asks me: “Well, would you come out for a drink with me? Actually, drink and dinner?” I accept, because I have a feeling he can entertain me with his crazy anecdotes about a life so different from mine, and also because one of my many principles is always to accept if someone has the balls to ask you out (and you single ladies out there should do it too. It takes courage to asks someone out, reward them! You might even get surprised.). We agree on going out the week after. Two days later he has a property to show me, and he comes and picks me by car, underlining how he never does that with any other client, “But you are special”. Ok, it’s clear he likes me and he is interested. He greets me with a: “Looking forward to our date on Thursday!”

When I tell the news of this incoming date with my estate agent, I receive two different reactions that both make me ponder whether it’s the right thing to do.
With Emanuele I joke about the possibility that, if I don’t like him and he instead is expecting something from me, he might undersell out flat out of revenge. Contrarily, I could use the hint of the possibility of sex as an incentive to make him sell out flat for as much as possible. We end our conversation with a joke: “Tell him that no casetta, no bussetta (to steal a Brasilian word)”, or “niente casina, niente patatina”.
The reaction that made me question if it was a good move or not was instead my Australian flatmate’s one. She seemed to have a strict view about what boundaries there should be in life (views that I clearly don’t share), and she filled my head with: “This is so unprofessional! Both on your side and on his!He shouldn’t be asking you out, it’s so wrong!” And on and on.

In the end, I decide it’s better to wait until the flat has been sold, just because I know I will have to see him many times, and talk with him even more times, and if the date goes badly I would feel very uncomfortable. On the following Monday I call him and tell him that I’ve thought it’s better to postpone our date, and to remain “professional” until the whole business is finished. He says, in his usual, estate-agent-cheeful-voice-that-by-now-sounds-so-fake-and-irritating: “No worries, Roby, that’s cool, you have a great day, speak soon!!!!!”

A week later, Emanuele calls the estate agency to have an update on how things are proceeding with our buyers, and asks to talk with Mr Acorn. The colleague who answers tells him: “Oh, sorry, he’s not in today. He went to the hospital with his pregnant girlfriend ‘cos they are having the second scan today.”

THE BASTARD.
HOPEFULLY BECOMING A FATHER CAN TRANSFORM YOU INTO A BETTER PERSON, GIVEN THAT THE ONE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW SUCKS.

The whole story finishes with a mail sent to Mr Acorn by Emanuele a few minutes later, with me in copy, after commenting on the phone what a bastard he had been:

“Hi there,

Pls confirm you have received our solicitor’s details (bla bla bla). Let us know if you need anything else from me and Roby.
PS: We’ve just heard you’re becoming a father soon! Congratulations!”

……And this, in my vocabulary, is called class.

Needless to say, he never commented on this, nor ever mentioned our date again. He just became a bit colder with me, that instead I’ve always kept smiling to his face. How many things can a smile say! It can also say:“In the end, casina sì (cos we sold the flat!), patatina no”.

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