Bachelor #56

When last we heard from The Overpriced Dating Service, they were dangling yet another wonderful-sounding but in all likelihood fictional character in front of me, in order to stop my incessant (though justified) whining about the last pitiful $114 specimen. Sadly, this fictional character was heading off on a fictional vacation, so my date with Mr. Wonderful-If-only-He-Were-Real would have to wait.

And wait I did. Then, at long last, the day of the big (but probably fictional) date arrived. As I often do on date days, I awoke thinking, "To shave my legs, or not to shave my legs?" On the one hand, if I consult my calendar, it would appear (at least to the uninitiated) that I do indeed have a date scheduled for this very evening, which would dictate leg shaving (though only to the knee, lest we not encourage any inappropriate behavior in the unlikely events that, first, my date should in fact turn out to be non-fictional, and second, that I should actually find him somewhat appealing. ) But on the other hand, given the history, I will probably be spending the evening eating popcorn for dinner in my yoga pants, in which case, shaving my legs would be an enormous waste of water. I have to think about the environment here, OK?

But of course, ever the optimist (read: FOOL) I shaved. Of course. But only to the knee. Then, at 10:30, the most amazing thing happened. The Overpriced Dating Service called to confirm my date. I thought, "But how is that possible, since we all know he's fictional?" But apparently all my skepticism was unfounded. I had been too quick to judge. The Overpriced Dating Service may be overpriced, but to suggest that they conjure up fictional men in order to shut up their whiny female clients is just too harsh. This is a legitimate business, providing a legitimate, albeit overpriced, service. I would be thanking them tomorrow and eating my words.

And then at 1:15, my phone rang again. Imagine my surprise when the coordinator informed me that one of my fictional date's fictional family members had been in some kind of fictional accident, and so he had to cancel. Now, ordinarily I am a kind, sympathetic human being, capable of all kinds of sympathetic thoughts when someone is struck by tragedy. However, when that someone is fictional and screwing with my social life, sympathy might be a little hard to summon up. But I think I pulled it off, and we rescheduled our fictional date for the following Monday.

So this morning I woke up and again wrestled with the leg-shaving decision, but decided to settle it based on wardrobe selection, and shaved for the dress, not the soon-to-be-cancelled date.

Once again, 10:00 rolled around and I got the confirmation phone call. She had spoken to him and all was a go. The restaurant where we had originally planned to meet was closed tonight, but we had moved to another and everything was under control. I had to wonder. Could I have misjudged the poor misunderstood overpriced dating service once again? Was Bachelor #56 real after all?

But then at 11:00, my phone rang once again. Yes, my fictional date HAD confirmed but a short hour ago, but now would like to know if I can reschedule for Wednesday. The new venue just isn't convenient.

Well, I was very sorry to hear that my fictional date found the venue inconvenient to his fictional life, but this was getting out of control. I am not available on Wednesday. And even if I were, I have been put off by this fictional asshat one time too many. I told the coordinator in no uncertain terms that after making me wait 3 weeks while he was on vacation and then another week due to some fictional fictional accident (OK, maybe I left out my fiction theory on the phone call, but you know they're going to hear about it one of these days...) it was his turn for a little non-fictional inconvenience. It was tonight or never.

Can you guess how this turns out?

Not so fast. She called back a few minutes later to say that his issue was that his fictional car was in the fictional shop, so the new restaurant choice posed a bit of a challenge, but he's agreed to take the subway. The date was on. Gee, how chivalrous. How self-sacrificing. Maybe I should bring him a medal.

And then, of course, at 3:45, you will be shocked to learn that I got the call to say he just couldn't make it. It was just too gosh darned inconvenient. Now, my first instinct (after the one about the bridge) is to assume that I've been right all along. There never was a Bachelor #56. The vacation, the accident and the car in the shop were all elements of a carefully crafted work of fiction designed to make me believe they're doing everything in their power to find me a match. And prepare me for the next consolation date with a short, boring, middle-aged troll. But on the other hand, the coordinator sounded almost as annoyed as I was, and she told me she had quite the conversation with him about committing to the process, learning how to treat a woman (a clue: NOT LIKE THIS) etc.

I guess in the end I'll never know. But in the end I didn't have popcorn for dinner either. My lovely friend C picked me up in her convertible and treated me to a delightful dinner. With LOTS of wine. And as far as I could tell, no fiction.

Next.