One day I will probably get into trouble for writing about the conversations I have with people on the internet, but apparently the thought of that happening isn’t enough to stop me. I can’t help it. Life is just so much funnier than anything I could ever make up…
When I went to bed last night, I left Yahoo Messenger running. I woke up this morning to this:
CantRememberStuff: hi that was pretty funny on your profile
CantRememberStuff: you look familiar. have we met before?
CantRememberStuff: either way you’re cute 
By itself, it’s pretty innocuous, right? Here’s why I bring it up – we have met before. I personally will never forget the experience, but apparently I didn’t leave the same impression.
It was maybe 4 years ago, back when I was young(er) and naive and didn’t yet realize that 99.8% of the men on the internet were a few McNuggets shy of a Happy Meal. We chatted online a couple of times and eventually graduated to a telephone call. He was a little more flirty on the phone than I like to be before I’ve actually met someone (a policy that came into existence thanks to him), but nothing completely out of line. It soon became apparent that he was interested in meeting.
Maybe I just didn’t like his picture or maybe somehow I sensed his inner depravity, but for some reason I wasn’t very enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting. A girlfriend of mine had given me a really hard time about being too picky, though, so when he called one evening as I drove home from work around 9:30 pm, I made an impulsive decision. My daughter was gone for the night, and I had no plans. I wasn’t really up to going *out* out, but I invited him over to my apartment so we could get the initial meeting out of the way and watch a little tv. Yes, I know, it’s very stupid for a woman to invite a man to her home without knowing him, but something told me that if it came down to it, I could take him if I had to.
I knew from the moment I opened the door that he just wasn’t my type, and I mentally bitch-slapped the girlfriend that had accused me of being picky. There’s a reason that I am picky – it’s so that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life vomiting after sex. If there’s liquor involved, sometimes its unavoidable, but when it’s because your partner has just removed the paper bag from his head, it’s just wrong. (Wow, that was harsh. I really hope he doesn’t read this.)
Ok, truthfully, he wasn’t ugly, just…your stereotypical computer geek. The only thing missing was the pocket protector. Don’t worry, though, he more than made up for it.
He came in, and I resigned myself to being nice for at least a little while. We sat and chatted for a bit and watched some tv. He made himself quite comfortable and took off his shoes. To make a long story just slightly shorter, over the course of the next hour he managed to do two things that sealed his fate and pretty much guaranteed that he would not be seeing me again:
- At some point as we sat on the couch talking he apparently felt comfortable enough without his shoes to lean back against the arm of the couch and put his feet in my lap. All I can remember thinking is, “Is he insane?” When did it become ok to put your feet on someone on the first date?
- He was extremely eager to show me some software he’d downloaded to his Palm Pilot called the Palma Sutra. If you are at all familiar with the Kama Sutra, then it doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to deduce what the Palma Sutra is all about. Oh, and it came complete with illustrations, detailed descriptions, and a ‘comments’ section where one could make notes about each particular position. All I could think was, “I bet he whips that out during sex and uses it as an instruction manual.” Ugh.
After about an hour, I suddenly became extremely tired – it had been such a long day at work after all – and had to call it a night. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
The next day, I was stupid enough to answer the telephone when it rang. When he told me, “I didn’t want to leave last night,” I found myself thinking, “I didn’t realize you had a choice!”
And now 4 years later, he has completely forgotten meeting me, while I, on the other hand, can still see his black-sock-covered feet in my lap, and the The Arc (look it up) on his Palm Pilot.