"Hi, it's Malic. Do you remember me?"
"Eh, no.... (long silence) I'm a bit lost here I'm afraid"
"Your friend gave my brother your phone number that time..."
"Oh, you're the ice cream taxi driver! Hi..."
Yes, this calls for a bit of an explanation I know... So here we go. The first night I was really out drinking post the big break up the following took place:
After a few too many glasses of champagne I ended up getting a bit intimate with a friend of a friend in a bar down town. Nice enough. But due to an almost total absence of alcohol in the previous five months I felt totally shattered by about one o'clock and went to get my stuff to go home. My snog decided to walk me out, which I found quite touching until I realised he was mistakenly under the impression that he would be walking the whole distance with me so to speak. End of story was that he went back in the club (no doubt to find someone who wouldn't waste his time) whilst I got in a taxi to get home. Malic's taxi.
Malic was a rather good looking, charming taxi driver who was probably in his mid-twenties. Slightly surprised by the nights event's -yes I had clearly been out of the game for a bit too long to not even see it coming - I unleashed all my frustrations on Malic. From the fact that it was exactly 5 months since I was dumped, that I could not understand why I had been dumped, that the guy I had offended on the sidewalk next to his taxi was the first guy I had kissed since, how that freaked me out so much I had tried to call my ex from the bathroom, how I still loved him although he would now of course love me even less if possible after having to fend off drunken midnight calls from me, how ironic it was that it was actually Women's Day and how I could not understand how that guy thought he was coming home with me just like that.
And Malic listened. Told me I was wonderful. Said that men were bastards. And that my ex must be mad. He said all the right things, like a taxi driver should do. And then he did something more. Something I don't think taxi drivers normally do. He stopped and bought me ice cream. That night Malic restored my belief in men. With a chocolate ice cream.
But the story didn't end there. Three months - and for the record one date with my snog (who clearly wasn't that easily offended after all) - later I found myself in a taxi in a semi-drunken state once again. This time accompanied by Kris and Thomas. As the driver made his way through town I for some reason decided to tell the story of my favourite taxi driver. As the story unleashed he turned around and asked "What was his name?"
After a few too many glasses of champagne I ended up getting a bit intimate with a friend of a friend in a bar down town. Nice enough. But due to an almost total absence of alcohol in the previous five months I felt totally shattered by about one o'clock and went to get my stuff to go home. My snog decided to walk me out, which I found quite touching until I realised he was mistakenly under the impression that he would be walking the whole distance with me so to speak. End of story was that he went back in the club (no doubt to find someone who wouldn't waste his time) whilst I got in a taxi to get home. Malic's taxi.
Malic was a rather good looking, charming taxi driver who was probably in his mid-twenties. Slightly surprised by the nights event's -yes I had clearly been out of the game for a bit too long to not even see it coming - I unleashed all my frustrations on Malic. From the fact that it was exactly 5 months since I was dumped, that I could not understand why I had been dumped, that the guy I had offended on the sidewalk next to his taxi was the first guy I had kissed since, how that freaked me out so much I had tried to call my ex from the bathroom, how I still loved him although he would now of course love me even less if possible after having to fend off drunken midnight calls from me, how ironic it was that it was actually Women's Day and how I could not understand how that guy thought he was coming home with me just like that.
And Malic listened. Told me I was wonderful. Said that men were bastards. And that my ex must be mad. He said all the right things, like a taxi driver should do. And then he did something more. Something I don't think taxi drivers normally do. He stopped and bought me ice cream. That night Malic restored my belief in men. With a chocolate ice cream.
But the story didn't end there. Three months - and for the record one date with my snog (who clearly wasn't that easily offended after all) - later I found myself in a taxi in a semi-drunken state once again. This time accompanied by Kris and Thomas. As the driver made his way through town I for some reason decided to tell the story of my favourite taxi driver. As the story unleashed he turned around and asked "What was his name?"
"No idea, but he was rather good looking though," I said with a smile.
"Sounds like my brother," said the driver and picked up his phone.
A few Pakistani sentences later we suddenly had Malic on the loudspeaker in the car.
"Yes, are you the girl I bought a chocolate ice cream for at the petrol station?"
Oh, yes I was.
When the hysterical laughter that followed had calmed down a little bit and we were nearly at our chosen bar for the night Kris decided to take matters into his own hands. So he gave the brother my phone number and said I needed a date. Wonderful.
And today Malic called me to ask if I wanted to have another ice cream with him. How very Sex and the City. Except the girls there never dated taxi drivers as far as I can recall. Nothing against taxi driver in general, or this one in particular, but that's just not quite how I expected it to be.
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