“I finally acquiesced to the online guy and agreed to meet for a drink after work. I thought, “It’ll be good to get out, have a drink, meet someone new, and have different conversation.”
Oh, for those halcyon days of optimism.
His profile:
Non-smoker: check
Single/divorced/widowed: check
Age range: on the high edge of my range, but check
Lives within 25 miles: check
Religion: he’s open to all: check
Height: he’s open to all: check
Okay, let’s proceed. I’m not into appearance, but, since he called me an ugly freak, let’s discuss his looks. He stated his height as 5'11''. In his photos there’s a clean-shaven, medium-built guy with short, wavy dark brown hair, a nice smile, square shoulders, and a jaw line. Average, regular guy looks.
The man who showed up at the restaurant claiming to be him was at best 5'8'' (that’s being generous), had a week’s worth of beard on his face, long, gray stringy hair, sloping shoulders, the belly the size of an eight months’ pregnant woman, and no discernable chin or neck.
When he said hello, he revealed yellowed teeth. I did not recognize him.
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it with the person standing in front of me. After some awkward conversation, it was clear this was the man I met online.
He posted photos that were at least ten years old.
I should have left then. But I wasn’t expecting Mr. Right anyway; I was looking to get out for an hour or two, take a step toward reclaiming my life from the clutches of grief. I stayed to hear him out, find out more about him, see if there was any compatibility. His online dishonesty bothered me. A lot. But since I wasn’t expecting this guy to be The One, I let it slide.
But about those teeth ... I don’t expect toothpaste commercial whites, but the guy before me had badly yellowed teeth. And I mean bad, as in years of smoking resulting in yellow shards protruding from strange colored gums. The only thing more prominently pointing to a health problem were his yellow and bloodshot eyes.
But appearance is not my priority. For the record I have and will willingly date short, fat, bald men. What matters to me is intelligence, respect, sense of humor, kindness, compassion, sincerity, and honesty. I excused the lies of appearance and accepted that he hasn’t accepted that he’s aging. He’s older than me and I knew he would show some signs of aging, but I expected a reasonable likeness to his photos. I was willing to overlook all of that surface stuff and get to know him.
His profile stated that he’s a non-smoker. My profile states that I date non-smokers only. One of us is lying. It’s not me. He reeked of cigarettes. Several long trips he made to the “bathroom” further solidified that he’s a smoker. Especially because he returned smelling more strongly of cigarettes. His smoking habit is enough to eliminate him from all realms of possible future dates. I. Do. Not. Date. Smokers. How much more plainly can I say it? If someone says she doesn’t date smokers, she’s not lying. She means it.
He lost me at the first whiff of stale cigarette smoke. And yes, I should have left then. I regret that I didn’t say, “You smell like you just smoked a carton of cigarettes. I told you I don’t date smokers, so good night and goodbye.”
Instead I thought, “Oh what the heck, I’m here, he seemed nice on the phone, and maybe we can be concert buddies. I’ll have a drink with him.”
I had a drink. I had one glass of wine and a glass of water. In that time, he downed four beers and a shot of tequila.
But it wasn’t just the power drinking and power smoking that bothered me.
