First Date Pt 3

I arrived at the local pub with more than a pocket full of pre-first-date nerves. (This was not because internet dating was entirely new, but perhaps because I had elevated expectations of my surfer girl. There were several previous affairs - one with an American police officer whom I had met on the internet and flew 15, 000 miles (according to Google) to meet  – but more about her and my infatuation with females in uniform some other time). My usual routine is to arrive at least 15 minutes early, this is to guage the mood, acquaint myself with exits and find something to read/do/or break. I refuse to arrive second, mostly because I am certain to slip on a banana peel or step on a dwarf during my grande entry.

I picked her immediately. She looked as rehearsed as my latest pickup line. My excitement slumped as the reality that she was SO not a surfer girl consumed me. She looked like an artist. Nothing against artsy types, I just don’t dig that, and I was too young and too shallow to give her an opportunity to be interesting. Engrossed was I, in disappointment.

She didn’t even have a shell necklace on...