The Catherinette Chronicles

Like many of us singletons in the 21st century, I made the choice to dabble in a match making service. All my married friends-and my mother-encouraged me to do it. I heard heartening things like: “It’s not like you’re having success meeting anyone doing it your way,” or “You’re not getting any younger and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be to find someone that wants you,” or “Maybe you should just lower your standards.” After 6 months of listening to their “encouragement”, I caved and signed up with a national match making service that has a local office.

The process was intense. I had to go in for an interview and was bombarded with questions, have my picture taken, and shell out $500 for 4 “guaranteed dates”. I was brutally honest with them-I told them that I was extremely shallow and wanted a model hot guy that was in great physical shape. They told me that they would find him for me. Walking out of the office, I was psyched-finally, something that would work out! Yeah, not so much. Apparently, they didn’t pay much attention to the profile. I won’t bore you with the details of date 1 (who was still married and had dirt under his fingernails), instead, we’ll just jump into date number 2.

I was set up with some guy who’s name I have permanently blocked from my memory. What I clearly remember was his lazy eye and his yellow buck teeth. Okay, so I’m a bitch but since when did “I’m shallow and want someone that’s pretty to look at” translate into “give me a guy with a lazy eye and buck teeth.” Lazy Eye also seemed to have a listening problem. He would ask me questions over and over again, and then pull things out of his ass. An example: he asked me what my mom and dad did for a living. I explained that my mother was a shrink and lived nearby, and that my father was in the Navy and lived in Hawaii. Twenty minutes later he asked me about how my father, the photographer, and my mother, who worked in the Mexican Embassy, enjoyed living in Washington, D.C. Umm, what? Where on god’s green earth did he get that from??

The date dragged on for what seemed like hours. He stared openly at my cleavage, he tried to reach for my hand. He tried to reach for my leg under the table. I swatted his hand off my leg and excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I considered running, but had left my purse at the table. At the end of the night, Lazy Eye wanted to walk me back to my car. I told him no. He asked for my number, I gave it to him because I am stupid. He called me the next day. I did not answer the call-thank you, caller id. And the day after that. He finally got the hint and stopped calling-after 2 weeks of daily phone calls.

I still have nightmares about it where I wake up and find Lazy Eye staring at me from the other side of the bed (I just threw up in my mouth a little).