False Advertising... not just for infomercials!

My very first match date was not actually an easy arrangement. I contacted this guy more than once (is that desperation? I mean he did cyber "wink" at me!). He touted his love for cooking and gardening. He had a lovely photograph of his garden, several of him with some cute dogs (very smart, it looks cuddly), and one hilarious shot of him dressed up with other folks like the hair band Poison. What's not to love?

He suggested a local Irish pub. Nice. I love the pubs downtown, yet this one was somehow not in my chosen area. That's great. I discovered a cute little street full of local flare, artistically dressed folks, and an appeal very much like my beloved Asheville. All it needed was The French Broad Chocolate Lounge. It was perhaps lacking in dreadlocks, but one can't have everything. This pub was located within blocks of his downtown home. I arrived ten minutes early as usual. Did I mention punctuality is a non-negotiable unless there is blood or imminent death involved? I waited until an appropriate time to enter the establishment as no one actually walks up that early on a first date. At the prescribed time, I entered the bar. It was empty. A balmy day here in the Capitol, I selected a seat outside and ordered a Guinness. Liquid bread. Absolutely delicious. At ten after, I was starting to get irritated. Then a text buzzed in, "on my way". Really. I live 20 minutes out and I managed to find it and order a beer. Mr. Late showed up an additional five minutes later.

He was balding. Hmmm. So either the photographs were taken a good five to ten years ago or Mr. Clean has some sort of disease. I think it's both. The lying disease. He never offers an apology for being late. Perhaps this is standard courtship behavior here in the big city. It's annoying. And while I have no problem with a man's hair that turns loose, it's the false advertising that's pretty awful. We engaged in light conversation where Mr. Clean kept touching the back of my arm. If all the clues that Mr. Clean is not Mr. Perfect-for-Me, the sickening feeling in my gut like someone just ran over my dog that pervaded every time his paw touched me, did.

Then there were the other untruths... the garden. It was at a house he had five years ago. He doesn't garden anymore. The dogs belong to a friend. And the kitchen remodel that made him seem like the appealing handyman was just not happening. What I learned is that he was the first of a handful of engineers that I would encounter. There's a reason these guys are looking for love online (I know, very judgmental). Anyone whose social ineptitude surpasses my own and whose very being is saturated in lies is a "no". The experience was pleasant enough. We ordered a Guinness chocolate mousse that we shared. He gets a point for being ok with dessert... a future date will not, so I have to give credit where credit is due. And speaking of credit. This guy was so nice. He offered to pay for half of the tab.