We were in the middle of a discussion about the dollar's position versus various foreign currencies when she abruptly said, "My penguin has died." I nodded, pretending to understand what she meant, and asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. She indicated that she would. Our waitress came with our bill, and I sprayed her with a can of Raid, making her go away….
INTERNET DATE
By Carmen Diode
Not too terribly long ago, I decided to try my luck with Internet dating. I discovered a romance advertisement service associated with an Anna Kournikova website that I was visiting on a frequent basis. The personal ad that I chose to respond to was elegant in its simplicity:
"Fortyish woman, slim and attractive, upbeat and adventurous, enjoys
dancing, movies, romantic dinners, and long walks on the beach.
I am seeking a man who is intelligent, fit, kind and gregarious. Must
be stable, dependable, energetic, and love lots and lots of HOT & WILD SEX!"
I am not sure what aspect of this ad most attracted me, but I resolved to answer it, if for no other reason than to find out which beach this woman took her walks on, considering that we are at least a thousand miles away from the nearest large body of water.
Having not dated for a while, I decided to tap in to the new electronic technology to see if I could locate an appropriate match. Online dating seemed ideally suited for an individual like me who has limited time, money and energy to woo potential dates and who is prone to embellish the facts about myself and what I like to do.
I answered the ad, and apparently, the woman found my response to be charming and witty. She wrote back, wanting to know more about me. I came to know her, for several weeks, as bds42@Hotmail.com. She signed her e-mails bds, for short. Cautious and a little reluctant, as well, to reveal my true identity, I signed my e-mails to her as Copernicus.
We traded e-mails for several weeks, and then phone calls. Our conversations were engaging and captivating, and aside from her frequent use of the word "fromage" in sentences where it really didn't seem to fit, I felt an attraction developing between us. We both agreed, during one of these conversations, that the time had come to actually meet.
She told me that her real name was Maureen, and I told her that mine was Mr. Ed, still remaining inexplicably reticent about revealing my true identity. We arranged to meet, for coffee, at a local Borders book store. If things went well, we would go to dinner.
Neither of us knew what the other looked like. Romantically misguided though it may have been, we both agreed that it would be more interesting to focus our attraction to each other's psyche and personality without the distraction of physical appearances. She told me to look for a woman with average length brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a red World Wrestling Entertainment t-shirt. I told her that I was unsure of what I would be wearing, but that I would bring signal flags in case we had trouble locating each other.
I arrived thirty minutes ahead of our arranged scheduled meeting time, wearing a cheap and squalid disguise that consisted mainly of large sunglasses, a hideous blond wig that my daughter had used as part of her Halloween costume, and a vapid mustache fashioned out of some of the strands of the blond wig that I had chopped off to make the length more fitting for a man. I had decided that I would make a hasty exit if this woman turned out to be ugly.
I found a vantage point, in the erotica section, where I could observe people entering and exiting the bookstore. I pretended to be browsing through a book on ethnic fondues (it was either misplaced or dealing with sexual practices that I am inexperienced with) as I waited for my date to make her appearance.
Ten minutes passed beyond the appointed meeting time, and no one entered matching the description that she had given me. I did notice a woman in the Philosophy section, dressed in the manner that she had described, pretending to browse through a book about Kierkegaard, and amazingly wearing the same disguise that I was wearing. We made eye contact, and I used my signal flags to make the universal message for "Are you Maureen?" She nodded yes, and I signaled for her to follow me to a table in the coffee bar.
Maureen ordered a mocha latte from the waitress, and I ordered a set of pneumatic power tools that were on sale at a reasonable price. After twenty minutes of small talk and pleasantries we felt comfortable enough to remove our disguises. Under the cheap and tacky blond wig, Maureen wore a cheap and tacky brown toupee. I encouraged her to dispense with the formalities and to drop the Mr. and just simply call me Ed, which she was happy to do.
We managed to conquer our jitters about meeting for the first time and enjoy each other's company. I was drawn to her naiveté and good natured outlook, and she seemed to appreciate that I had purchased her a set of snow tires.
We continued our animated conversation, on a variety of topics for another half hour or so. We were in the middle of a discussion about the dollar's position versus various foreign currencies when she abruptly said, "My penguin has died." I nodded, pretending to understand what she meant, and asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. She indicated that she would. Our waitress came with our bill, and I sprayed her with a can of Raid, making her go away.
We decided to drive separate cars to our dining destination, Barney's Burger Bar. After she left, I remembered that I had walked to the book store and had to hitch hike to the restaurant.
The restaurant was crowded, but the maitre’d said that he could seat us at a table for two if we were willing to share one chair. We took the table, but I grew uneasy watching her stand, so I asked our waiter to take the chair away, and I also stood. This seemed to make her feel better.
I ordered vichyssoise and leek salad. Maureen ordered a plate of butter, which she sucked, noisily, through a straw. And, for some odd reason, she spit her iced tea at the waiter each time that he left our table. At one point I noticed that Maureen had a chunk of celery sticking out of her ear, but I didn't want to embarrass her so I let it pass without mentioning it.
We talked of many things during the course of our dinner. I expounded on books, politics, movies, and religion, while she discussed fashion, her job, and small cycle engines. Since we both spoke at the same time, we never really heard or understood what the other was saying.
We both declined dessert, so our waiter brought our tab. The back of his shirt was drenched in iced tea. I waited for Maureen to offer to pay but it became clear that she expected me to take care of it so I left the bill on another table as we departed.
Outside, it was raining. I offered Maureen my umbrella and she surprised me by taking it because she already had an umbrella of her own. We walked to her car and she thanked me for a nice evening. She said that she had a wonderful time, but I couldn't really tell if she was being truthful. The fact that she had asked for the waiter's personal phone number, as well as the phone numbers of the entire kitchen staff, still weighed heavily on my mind.
Maureen indicated that she was going to leave. I wasn't sure if I should kiss her or not, so I decided to grope her breast instead. It was obviously the wrong thing to do as she slapped me on the side of my head with a loaf of dinkel bread that she just happened to have in her purse. She told me to call her and hinted that maybe we could meet again. She thanked me for dinner and the umbrella, then drove away.
All in all, the experience was not that bad, and I learned a few things that should serve me in the future should I continue to use the Internet as a means to locate dates. One thing that I won't do again is tell someone that I am six foot, five inches tall when I am really only five foot, eleven inches. I was only able to jack my height up to about six foot one inch with the heels that I wore, and they were extremely uncomfortable since I was unaccustomed to wearing them. Another thing that I believe I will avoid doing is embellishing my career. If a woman is unwilling to accept me for who I really am, then I am most probably better off without her. Fortunately, Maureen and I have not progressed far enough into our relationship for her to learn that I am not really the starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos, as I more or less led her to believe that I was.
© Copyright, Carmen Diode
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