In fact it was my third date, in the space of a year, and the first of her time so far in NZ, just over eight months. I arrived a little late, and a little warm; she after another 40 odd minutes or so, hung over, but proffering a svelte and honestly apologetic hug. Out on the tiles after jazz fest, she confessed that she almost didn't come, but for the fact she already felt bad after forgetting our previous arrangement, to meet on the Wednesday- which was for me was actually one of two cancelled dates that week.
The counter to my suggestion that we wander around the lantern festival was that she couldn't be around that many people right now. Yet, half an hour later she was snapping away with her cellphone and regretting not having brought her camera. My amusement at her change of heart grew.
She was lovely, and was perfectly comfortable standing in a crowd, the whole time brushing and pressing up against each other. It was interesting to find that physical freedom and permission to touch, especially as my primary profession is massage, and I've spent seven years exploring the many, many qualities of touch, and people's responses.
But that's behind closed doors. Out in the open it's a different thing, and Kiwis—by and large—are not helluva 'touchy-feely'. So, as the conversation flowed, meeting someone that was perfectly comfortable in that kind of physical proximity made quite a pleasant contrast, to say the least. By the end of the evening there were actual squeals of delight ...as the fireworks showered down, that is, and hugs flew in my direction as we laughed over how little she'd wanted to be there but a few hours ago.

All in all, I can't think of many first encounters that match that, and I do love a South African accent, I admit, but there was that one point in the evening where she professed that she didn't really enjoy wine.

Is that a biggie?
She really was a great girl in so many respects, and even the career as a tax accountant wasn't offputting, but I know from talking to another in that profession—who now owns his own firm—that the only way to cope is to drink. And that he does. The good stuff. For example, not just chardonnay, but Burgundy; not just Burgundy but Mersault, and not just Mersault but Premier Cru wines by the likes of Jadot and Roulot.
Ending my evening on the down-hearted note that I just couldn't be serious about someone that displayed no interest past Bernadino, when so many other boxes were ticked, that was hard. But then, it's 'those' moments in life that I want to share with someone, and mine almost all comprise a bottle of something that makes me simply melt.
There are times, though, when I also kinda wish I was just out looking for some fun.
S'a hard life being fussy, I tell you...