Match

Everyone says that dating is nothing more than a numbers game, just like those pesky slot machines in Vegas. Yes, the more you play the more likely you are to win but just like those Vegas machines, more often then not you walk away a looser. Well, in order to get out those and play number names I decided to hit the internet. Unfortunately, due to a pending pay cut and the fact that I hadn’t paid off my most recent overseas trip, I was forced to try my hand at one of the more inexpensive dating sights, which might have been my first mistake. After weeks of getting no emails and finding that my profile was being looked at 30-40 year old military men, dressed in camouflage and showing themselves off in Afghanistan or Iraq with their machines guns I finally received a “wink” from what seemed like a viable candidate. So when 27 year old Match emailed me with a normal looking picture and an even more normal looking profile I was hopeful that maybe this internet thing would pay off.

We met at a nice restaurant in Cherry Creek and had a glass of wine. He was nice enough, sure there were some problematic signs, he didn’t ask me too many questions about myself and when I did tell him the name of the non-profit where I worked he got a smirk on his face and told me that he use to be quite conservative. So, we bantered back and forth about politics and then he made some random statements about how Jewish men were emasculated and Jewish women wore the pants in the family. I could have told you right then and there that this date was going nowhere fast.

We had more wine, definitely one glass too many. When he reached into his pocket and suavely pulled out chap stick and applied it to his lips with a smirk in his eye I should have found a reason to end the night, but the wine was clouding my judgment. As the night went on he started ogling my breasts, moving closer and touching my leg. The night came to a screeching halt, when in the middle of the bar he leans over with a lecherous look and says, “I want to bite your breast” and ends his sentence with a half sneer and bit in my direction. What can I say, except to reiterate that the evening came to a screeching halt and I dragged my wasted self out of the bar and home to bed.