What would Chiara do? I often asked myself this question when I was unsure about something. Like tonight. John was great — actually, better than great. Top of his class, from a good family, full of energy to get to the top. He also looked really well, slim, brown hair and blue eyes, he had a smile that melted my brain. He was my type and this was our third date. So, why I wasn’t happy? I didn’t really understand it.

Then it happened — the waiter brought us a bottle of wine. We started the evening off at the bar, drinking martinis. John insisted that the place made the best martinis in town. I couldn’t disagree — I am no great connoisseur of martinis. It always occurred to me that there must be something wrong with a drink that includes an olive — everyone knows olives belong to a salad, not a drink. I would have preferred a strawberry daiquiri I spotted on the drinks menu but I didn’t dare to interrupt John. After all, it was only our third date.

We haven’t even finished the drinks — or maybe it was John’s third — when we were seated. John had ordered an expensive white wine to match the starters he picked for us. I normally drink red but then, I never eat seafood.

John was funny as always, commenting on the people around us. By the time they brought the starter, I was starving. I was so hungry even the lobster was suddenly appealing, how strange. I didn’t pay much attention to the bottle of wine that the waiter finally brought in. I was relieved he also brought the water. He filled our glasses and I took a sip.

“Water… Are you a fish?” John laughed at his own joke. Clearly, he wanted the wine, it probably complimented the lobster better to be fair. Somehow they forgot to bring the wine glasses though. With the other glasses on the table full with water, John had only one option: he poured himself a glass of wine using his martini glass.

Suddenly, I remembered what Chiara would do… She once told me how she left her boyfriend of eight years because he could not tell the difference between a martini and daiquiri glass. I knew I couldn’t be with someone who would pour a wine into a martini glass — no matter how much I disliked said wine. It was simply against the nature.

“Excuse me,” were my last words to John as I stood up and walked away from him.

Of course, I haven’t thought it through. I forgot that John picked me up at Chiara’s place so I didn’t bother to take any coat with me. I also didn’t bother to take any money. So I walked just in my dress across the town in the rain. Somewhere mid way I decided to take off the impossibly high heels I wore to impress John and walked the rest of the way home barefoot. I had to be quite a sight when I finally made it home.

“Oh, darling, come in. What happened? No, first, dry yourself up a bit. I will make us a tea,” Chiara greeted me with a waterfall of words that directed me to my room.

When I changed my dress and came back to the living room, Chiara had already a mug of tea ready.

“Thank you,” I whispered and took the mug, sipping the tea. I could feel the warmth of the tea defrosting my fingers and reaching my heart.

“I take it the date didn’t go well,” Chiara commented offering me a plate of her world famous cookies.

“No, it was odd. I guess it was not working from the beginning…”

Chiara just nodded.

“When did you realise that?”

“You know, it was actually something you told me…”

“Really?”

“Yes, I remember how you told me that you broke up with some guy after eight years just because he couldn’t tell a martini glass from a daiquiri glass and when I saw John pouring the wine into the martini glass, I knew it’s over.”

Chiara started to laugh. “Tell me everything,” she encouraged me. And so I did, I told her every detail.

“You see, you opened my eyes,” I finished. “I realised John wasn’t the right guy for me, the same way you did. And then you met my uncle…”

“And then I met your uncle,” she nodded, smiling broadly, and continued: “who couldn’t tell a martini glass from a daiquiri glass either.” Now, she started to laugh again.

“What?” I was confused. “But the story you always told…”

“It was true. It’s just, when it came to your uncle, it didn’t matter. Life isn’t about cocktails. It was not an important thing.”