Goodyear, the world leader in blimps

Jane, stop this crazy thing.

I just had a remarkable phone conversation with a woman who wrote to me sympathetically about my adventure last night with a pick-up date from hell.

Oh, I didn't tell you about that, did I?

A friend of mine's daughter had her bat mitzvah yesterday. He invited me, and "a guest," and this was long enough ago that I thought I'd have met a suitable "guest" by now, but here it was, late last week and I had no prospects at all, not even Miranda, since I knew she had her company party last night. In desperation, I posted on Craig's List for a companion, and although I had around ten interested parties email, they almost all had plans for Saturday.

Except this one woman.

Sent her a picture (she didn't send one back). Asked for a picture (she ignored me). Asked again (she ignored me), and against my better judgment, I picked her up anyway. Bad idea.

She was way overweight, mouthy, she smelled like macaroons, and worst of all, she was dressed as if she was going to a craft fair or a dog show or some outdoor concert with some bad leftover Seventies band, not going to a solemn ceremony at temple. After she had asked, I'd already told her that, per the invitation, dress was dresses, skirts, etc. and suits and ties for men. Apparently she's a Contrarian, because how she looked was about as far from what was suggested as possible. If you look up the definition of "zaftig" in the dictionary, I think this woman's picture was there... what a friend of mine calls a "hippie New York Jew." Frizzy hair, fat-girl glasses, a huge canvas bag with some gaudy stuff on it, black shapeless capri pants with gaudy embroidery, and backless turquoise moccasins with socks. I shit you not. I almost told her to go back upstairs and change.

I bit my tongue, as I sat there in my gray wool suit and silk tie, and we were barely out of the driveway of her pretentious apartment building in Cleveland Park when she was trying to drive for me. I'd asked her to read me my co-worker's printed directions to get to this place off I-66, and she insisted, "no, I know all the exits, let's go up the Beltway to the Toll Road and we can get off there."

After rather firmly asking her to simply "read me the directions he has from I-66, thanks" she threw the paper at me and snapped, "here, figure it out for yourself!" We drove another few miles in tight-lipped silence, and I finally said, "I think this isn't a particularly good idea. Tell you what, I'll take you home, and I'll go to the service late." Anything than to have this combative blimp, dressed like a clown, embarrass me and insult my friends and their family members and temple with this hideous outfit.

So, I did. Got off at Route 7, turned around and went back to DC. I was a nice guy, really. I get five Nice Guy Points(tm) for not giving in to my first urge, which was to pull over and tell her to get her fat ass out of my car and get a cab. I earned another five Nice Guy Points(tm) for not giving her a piece of my mind on the ride back. She, of course, couldn't restrain herself, but had to wait until I pulled up in the drive of her pretentious apartment building to unleash a burst of insulting amateur psychology and slam my car door.

I love classy women, don't you? Life around them is so... exciting.

I went to the service late but began feeling rather lonely and actually a little physically ill, so I ducked out before dinner rather than mess up everyone else's celebration.

On the way home, I checked email and found a delightful message from a woman who lived barely a mile from the service (it was in Herndon, and I was now in Reston), commiserating about my lack of a date for the service, but she'd forgotten to include a phone number! After a fruitless search in Directory Assistance, I gave up.

I went home and had french fries at the diner down the valley, and felt sorry for myself for being the only guy in this area code seemingly not out with a beautiful woman in a gorgeous holiday dress this night.

This morning, she corrected her mistake.

(The "delightful woman," not the mouthy blimp, who actually sent me several irate emails telling me about all my personality flaws, all in CAPS and badly-spelled, of course, until I threatened to call her ISP and tell them to jerk her account).

We'll call her Louisa. We talked for an hour and a half and I am now in that stunned aftershock mode I get sometimes, where I am amazed how often the world reminds me of women who are smart, witty, deep, and fun to talk to.

Don't get me wrong, I'm already assuming I can't have her, either, but as you've figured out, I sometimes enjoy torturing myself by being around such women long enough for them to reject me, and I never learn.

So of course we're having dinner in Reston tonight.

She's already warned me she "has big boobs." I appreciate the warning... you have to be careful, or you could put an eye out or something. Safety first.