I was on a dating app looking for lunch. This match promised many firsts: First South Asian guy; first honest short guy; and first charity date. The charity was on both sides – me donating attention and him donating food (hopefully).
Why do guys lie about their height? Look, women’s dating profiles list their height without shoes. Adding two inches does nothing because the average pair of hoe heels are three inches. Please stop lying about having five or more inches. Thanks!
His tininess was fact. His photo was fiction. Being uglier than an already bad photo is like owning shortness while lying about how short.
My date wore a crumpled polo shirt, equally wrinkled jeans, and open-toe slippers with unlotioned toes. Do I even dare to smell him?
If his toes were breakfast, they’d be an overfull bowl of Cheerios – original, not the honey nut kind – with NO DROPS OF MILK. That’s right, his crusty toes hung over his slippers like a large bowl of ultra-dry heart-healthy whole-grain cereal.
Roberto looked less like a potential lover and more like an old sponge that got lost behind the stove – brown, dry, and crumpled.
My belly fluttered. He leaned against the snack machine. I decided to just go for it. Real love? Not a chance. Free food? Highly possible!
The walk to the cafe confirmed we didn’t have chemistry. So, I got chips (no meal, no drank) ‘cause this date had to end with da quickness.
He ordered a full meal and didn’t offer to pay for my one item.
First date rule #3: Order a cheap lunch to weed out cheap lovers. Setting the bar low tests their generosity. If they “forget” their wallet at least you didn’t blow a bag on a dud.
“Why are you studying to be a writer? Are you any good? How do you plan to make money?”
Sir, this is a charity date, not an existential crisis simulator. If I want to question my life choices, I’ll review my student loans – not talk to you, Mr Ashy Toes.
After my last chip, I offered a goodbye handshake. He still had half a sandwich to eat and demanded to know why I didn’t want a second date. Man’s not serious, right? Anywhores, from then on, I vowed to always keep a granola bar in my purse.
A few weeks later, he messaged me via a different dating site. Did he think I’d forgotten him? No one could forget those dry-aye-aye toes.
I reminded him that we’d already been on a date and that I was not interested in seeing him again. He responded all in caps, “I KNOW. IT WAS A MISTAKE!” A hopi grande mistake, indeed.
Shout out to the granola bars and shelf-stable snacks that keep us from making major life decisions based on hunger.
