What a Waste of Lip Gloss

So I went on my first date with someone I “met” online.

The guy was from Match. He virtually winked at me, we exchanged several anonymous emails, then spoke on the phone and texted. On paper, he seemed pretty good...

He had a cleverly-written profile that used big words and didn't contain any grammatical errors. 43 year old hedge fund manager. Never married. No kids, no pets. Owned his apt on the UWS. Penn undergrad and Wharton MBA. Former college-level tennis player. A “people person” with a “feminine side ingrained by sisters.” Said he ate healthy, and ran or biked 15-30 miles per week. Had most of his hair. At a reported 5’10”, he was shorter than I normally like, but I thought I should keep an open mind.

We decided to meet.

Based on his pictures (there were 10), I arrived at Soho Park expecting someone who looked like David Addison from the Blue Moon Detective Agency. What I got was someone who looked more like Columbo. His suit was all rumpled, he had a belly like Santa, and SUCH big dark bags under his eyes that I’m confident Delta would have charged him a handling fee for merely setting foot on a plane. And even though I was in heels that made me just under 6’, he was no 5’10”.

Okaaaay. Keep an open mind.

We quickly sat down and there was this weird exchange with the waitress. She brought him something that looked like a coke or an iced coffee in a to-go cup. He sent it away and ordered a glass of white wine while I ordered a beer. Then she brought menus. “We won’t be eating,” he declared, and started rapidly firing questions at me. It felt very much like an interview, not at all like a conversation, and he kept asking me things we’d already discussed on the phone. Still, I tried to be breezy and light, tell stories, BE HUMAN. His eyes darted all around, and he checked his BlackBerry 7 times.

When I did manage to squeak a question in, I got mostly vague answers. “So, how many siblings do you have?” “A few.” “How long have you lived in New York?” “A while.” “Where’s your office?” “Downtown.” He fidgeted in his seat like a kid that had to go potty. But I did get one direct answer when I asked if his parents still lived in Florida. “They’re dead,” he replied.

Everything I said was met with the same reaction, an exaggerated, “Woooow.” We started out by talking about work, so at first, I thought the wows meant he was impressed. But when I said I liked pepperoni pizza and he said wow, I knew this date was over. He downed his glass of wine while I was only halfway thru my beer, and practically jumped out of his skin asking for the check.

It was actually pretty rude -- I was like, wait, YOU have had enough of ME? Oh, ok.

It was very awkward outside, so I went to shake his hand, as if to say, “Good luck, Freak.” Instead, he went in for a shoulder hug and an air-kiss on the cheek. But one cheek wasn’t enough -- apparently he thinks he’s European, because he barked, “One more!” and air-kissed my other cheek. I was like, ewww, you weird little midget!

And with that, I jumped in the first cab I saw, went straight home, and ate an entire pepperoni pizza.

Wow.