Dinner with the Captain

Last evening was my turn to dine with the Captain and officers of the ship. It was a formal night on the theme of the Black and Silver Ball, which followed dinner.

I can't complain at all about what was offered to us -- a preliminary reception at which the wine and champagne flowed freely, a six course meal in the ship's Pinnacle Grill with more wine, and the gift of a little piece of Dutch pottery of sufficient elegance to come with a certificate of authenticity. There was a wrapped object inside that I thought was a tulip bulb, but was instead (I just discovered to my delight) a really good chocolate. Our table was hosted by the ship's purse, a slight, handsome Brit who looked like the doctor on "Love Boat", a resemblance he admitted while reviling the show itself for its absurd portrayal of cruising.

But the poor man was stuck at a table with five single older women, four Americans and a Canadian, three of them recent widows, one of them rather drunk from the reception. The conversation was clunky at best and embarrassing at worst. I don't enjoy social events like this generally, and seeing the purser forced by professional obligation try to stay civil and pleasant in the middle of a hen party made me very glad when it was over. I did not, of course, attend the ball. Sorry to those who hope I will find the love of my life on this cruise, but if it's going to happen, he's going to have to meet me on deck or in the library as I struggle with the daily sudoku. Actually, one of my tablemates offered to help me with the sudokus, but he is a stereotypical southern Californian who reminds me a lot of a lover from some time ago, my connection with whom does not bring happy nostalgic smiles to my face. The man of my dreams must at least be able to ask questions about someone else and take part in conversations not entirely about himself.