Red Pill Vignette – The Woman in Red


My time here had been shit – a lesion in my back and flu symptoms, apart from the interminable heat.

This was supposed to be a Jaunt and felt more like a Taunt. Still, I pushed through and came out on the street to meet Hungarian women.

The trip felt like a reconnaissance in case I ever get sent to Europe for work and needed to pick the cities I’d like to visit the most on a cheap Easyjet flight.

Hauer Cafe

I went to a local cafe in Budapest for a late breakfast. There the wide-eyed waitress served me a coffee and a Hungarian goulash.

I looked over and there was a young, lovely woman in red standing and preening herself in front of the mirror while her portly husband sat eating his lunch. She put so much effort into dressing, grooming, makeup – and here she was correcting, patting down, and shaping herself to be picture of beauty.

Quite literally at this table …

They ate in silence.

He was sitting on one side of the table with sandwich in one hand, phone in the other. I imagined him to be mid-thirties, about twenty kilos overweight, a government employee or IT worker, and comfortably middle class.

She to me was probably late twenties – and while not a trophy wife, definitely much more attractive than him and in the prime of her life.

The Waitress

I got to talking with the waitress and told her I had something to say about this woman in red.

They paid the bill and soon left. The waitress, curious, came back to me and asked what I wanted to say about her.

“She is totally bored in that relationship. Did you see them?” I remarked.

“Of course I did. I used to be that woman in red,” she replied.

She went on to tell me about her former boyfriend – how she was with him for three years, how they got engaged and how in the end she broke it off because, well, he was just so BORING.

I got her number and we agreed to go for a drink.

“Don’t worry. With me you will never be that woman in the red dress,” I assured her.


RQ’s post is timely:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.