A buddy of mine mentions that he has a classmate he wants to set me up with. I say, “What’s she like? And if you say the words ‘great personality’, the deal’s off.”
He assures me that she’s attractive, like a curvy version of Winona Ryder. So, I get her number and ask her out.
A few days later, I walk in to the restaurant where we’re meeting, looking for a girl in a black dress. And there she is. The resemblance is uncanny. Remember Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice?
I decide to sit down anyway and give her a chance. We ask the standard getting to know you questions. What’s your major, what kind of music do you like, how many ducks could you beat in a fight, that sort of thing. She says she’s a photographer and offers to email me some pictures. I borrow a pencil from the waitress and she writes down my email address.
We get to talking about politics, and I ask her who she’s going to vote for in the upcoming primary. She says, “Hillary Clinton. I don’t know anything about her policies, but I think it’s time we had a girl in the White House.”
She hasn’t smiled the entire conversation, so I try to make her laugh. I say, “Hannah Montana is a girl, too. Maybe you ought to do a write-in vote?”
And then she impales my hand with the pencil.
I scream, run outside, and drive myself home with one hand. When I get home, I realize the lead had broken off under my skin. It takes me almost half an hour of digging with tweezers to get it out.
And that’s when I decided on my Number One Dating Rule: If you stab me, you have to pay for dinner.
