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It was incredibly awkward because I’d caught him in this lie.
We still stayed for drinks, but he didn’t even offer to foot my half of the bill.” Such is the plight of online romances, where first dates can feel like “Catfish” outtakes.
As I entered the large room crowded with books and eligible singles, I briefly considered inventing a completely new personality for myself. I grabbed two glasses of free champagne and made my way to the end of a long, white table, where I sat down across from an attractive woman with hair and eyes equally brown. What was I, a 22-year old idiot, whose best idea of a pick-up line is something like “Do you think this place is a fire-hazard? As is so often the case, I had no idea what I wanted. They were blocked, crowded with singles on their way in. I wondered if the woman across from me noticed it too.
But after making the trek from her Upper West Side apartment to a West Village restaurant, reality sank in.
“The second I saw John, I realized he was closer to 5-foot-10.
All types of girls - young, old, curvaceous, willowy, bespectacled, un-bespectacled (is that a word? You are encouraged to talk about only the book you have brought to discuss.” Then, she added, with a faint hint of accusation in her tone, “Men: do not attempt to contact the women. I repeat: do not contact the women.” Literary Speed Dating is, evidently, a hot-zone for unwanted advances.
Looking around, feeling lost for about the 10,000th time since moving to this monstrous city, I began to question myself.