18 March, 2010

Mike Yanagita

Remember that scene in Fargo, where Marge Gunderson has dinner with an old school friend? That school friend is Mike Yanagita. Remember the fumbling desperation? The pleading eyes, the excessive enthusiasm?

Meet Candidate No. 3.

At around 5'5" (profile says 5'10". For fuck's sake, Men, do not lie about your height. You will be caught. Seriously.) Candidate No. 3 is a jack of all trades who lives in an office building near the beach. In an actual office. Which kind of raises a red flag in my mind, but I digress.

He turned up looking quite a bit older (and fatter) than his photo, wearing jeans and thongs (if you're an American, that's what we call "flip flops" here in Australia). Now, I don't want to get all uppity, but is it too much to ask for a bloke to wear shoes? And while we're on it, here's a note for the ladies - if a chap's got his mouth shut in his photos, it means he's probably got really bad teeth.

My first impression, frankly, was no frickin' way. I tried not to let my disappointment show.

Now, to be fair, he's a nice guy I guess, but there's something just not quite right about 3. And after an hour or so of chatting, he started making bedroom eyes at me.

Uncomfortable.

Soon after he went for beers, came back and sat on the same side of the table as me. I got a dreadful feeling, like I was being hit on by a creepy uncle or something. You know the sort. The one that kisses you on the mouth at Christmas, when a cheek would have more than sufficed. Or grabs you on the arse when they give you a hug.

It soon became apparent that we were engaged in a slow-motion game of kiss chasey, where he'd move a little closer, and I'd move a little further away. He'd lean forward a bit, and I'd lean back a bit. When I ran out of bench, I declared it home time.

I grabbed my bag, thanked him for a pleasant evening, and made a run for it.  Sometimes, you know, one really does feel as though one has dodged a bullet on these things.

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