He was a maker of lists. He liked to have everything neatly ranked and categorised. As he looked across the table at his date, he didn't see a person, just a candidate to be subjected to this rigorous interview process. And crossed off a list. Or not.
"Firstly, you have to like Dr Who. That's non-negotiable!"
"Excuse me?"
She was already beginning to regret meeting this guy in person. Just because he had been funny and personable over the Internet didn't mean he wasn't a serial killer in real life. Her first impression hadn't been good. And things were not getting any better. She had never met anyone so abrupt. And he didn't even fit into the usual stereotype of the brash, self-assured guy. They were usually jocks - handsome, well-built and conscious of the fact. This guy was thin, knock-kneed and weedy with darting goggle eyes. Baggy, cheap, shiny suit. Clip-on tie. Maroon shirt. Ugh!
Meanwhile, he was running on oblivious, filling her on his expectations of a girlfriend. Or even, a second date.
"Look, do you have a form or something? Maybe I could fill it out to save you all this trouble."
He nodded, beaming. "Actually I do have a form, though I usually fill it up myself based on my subtle interview process as well as personal observation. I assign a weighting for each criteria. For instance, looks would probably carry a weighting of about 25 per cent while intelligence would rate 30 per cent. Similar interests - yeah, that would have the highest rating. I want to be with a geek who's into Dr Who and Buffy. To fill the time between sex." He guffawed loudly.
"And what do you do with the results?"
"I assign a number to each girl and plot in on a graph." He was on a roll. Having mentally dismissed this girl as unsuitable - too short, too plump, does not like Dr Who, rolled her eyes at the mention of Buffy - he was more than eager to share his brilliant matchmaker programme.
"Are you for real?"
"Yes, why?"
"I can't believe it. Have you looked in the mirror lately? I don't know who you think you are, but someone who looks as gawdawful as you do, would be lucky to score a crack whore. I'm leaving, I've had enough." She pushed back her chair and swept out of the restaurant, just as the waiter arrived with the menu.
He sighed, took out his palm pilot and calmly crossed out her name.
8 comments:
LMFAO!!! WoW!! That is fantastic! I would have left too!! "I can give you a graph fucker, A graph on how ugly you are!!!" Sorry, felt the need to throw my own line in there!!
TGIF sweety!!!
Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right? I mean, how can you NOT like Dr. Who??
Heh, heh. Kidding.
That's a date from hell story, if I've ever heard one.
men! lol
Nancy: Great line. Time for a reality check Mister. Although some of this is made up, the graph and the scoring system was real. As well as the way he looked. He was that ugly.
Andy: Heh. I hate Dr Who so much I have to leave the room if it's showing on tv and someone is watching it. Buffy wasn't so bad, however. Although the constant threat of Apocalypse and the "I lost my soul, I find my soul, damn I lost it again", got old real quickly.
M: Men are beasts. (Hepburn reference from Angels in America)
No way!!! What a complete freakshow. Man Diet. Man, I'm telling you it works! :)
Hey Stols: Man Diet is a brilliant concept. Think I might just try that.
Awesome! Did add much cheer to a dreary Sunday! The good bit about meeting weirdos is that, they make for great stories to tell! :)
Primalsoup: Welcome to my blog. Fer sure, they do make good stories. Which is what I strive to remember when I am busy being totally grossed out.
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