It all started innocently enough: I headed out to Chopsticks Karaoke Bar with a few friends for cocktails. Add in a pair of hoochie boots and a skirt the size of a napkin and you've got trouble. Now, watching balding, overweight men sing, "U Can't Touch This" is moderately amusing, but only for so long. My eyes began to wander over to the bar where I spotted my dream man: Dark hair, glasses, just over 30. Mmm boy! I swaggered over to his barstool and said, "Hi. Want to go on a date?" (Did I mention that I'm shy?) "Absolutely!" he said, and we exchanged phone numbers. He mentioned that he had to go to a formal wedding the next day. "You can be my date," he said.
The next evening I was in a flurry as I hitched up stockings and brushed my teeth maniacally. Was my breath as fresh as the Prince of Bel Air? Did I have leg stubble? He arrived at my apartment at 7:00 sharp, where he was promptly mauled by my six-pound dog. Unfortunately, he happened to be allergic to dogs and began to wheeze. After the initial disaster, we settled down to properly introduce ourselves. That's when the real trouble started.
"And what is it that you do?" I asked. "I'm a lawyer," he said. Whoo! Uncharted Dating Tips territory! "Really?" I said. When I revealed who in fact I was (come on, I'm a regular literary icon), I found that Mr. Lawyer happened to read my fine column quite often. "Oh," he gasped.
At that moment, this poor man began to produce large, unruly beads of sweat across his hairline that dripped mercilessly down his burning cheeks. I do not lie! I attempted to convey that I really am a kind, reasonable girl, but the date was over from that moment on. The wedding was boring, he barely spoke the entire time, and I never heard from him again. Damn this column! It has cursed me from day one! I vow to never date a law-abiding man again! As for me, I'll stick to unemployed dirtbags who steal copies from Kinko's.
