Our date is at 7:00. As usual I am on time, and as usual I’m the first to arrive spoiling any chance of making a grand entrance. I take a seat at the bar. The bartender asks what I’d like to order. I order water. I don’t want to order a drink, just in case he doesn’t show up.
At 7:10, a man who looks somewhat like my date walks into the room. I’ve never seen him in person, only his pictures on the dating website. The photographs appear to belong to the same man only this man is a good bit heavier.
He has a warm smile, firm handshake, and he smells good. As he takes a seat, I steal a glance at his belly; it protrudes over his belt. Didn’t he write on his profile that he had an athletic build?
Don’t be so superficial, I chide myself. Give this guy a chance. I actually like stocky men. Stocky, maybe. But this guy has a belly, and his face is bloated.
Put looks aside. You two appear to have a lot in common.
We talk about our work, past relationships, and spirituality. I like him. Taking another glance at his belly I know I’ve lost the battle. The fantasy I’d built around our life together quickly dissolves like an Alka Seltzer hitting cold water. Chemistry is a funny thing. You either feel it, or you don’t. I don’t feel it.
I take a deep breath. At the very least, this guy could be a friend. I like that thought. Still, I am sad, and I’m disappointed. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I had really thought this man could be “the one.”