So one day during my first year teaching, an acquaintance brought me a business card of an eligible bachelor named Kevin whom she had met over the weekend. I was in the middle of my most prolific dating streak ever—three guys whose names all started with J—but this new guy’s name started with a K. As none of the Js were panning out I figured it was time to move on with the alphabet. I took the business card.
A couple weeks later I called Kevin up. His voice was very deep, and that scared me. (Most of my previous boyfriends had been soccer players, and for some reason soccer players just don’t have deep voices.) During our first conversation Kevin mentioned that he loved the WWF and I asked, “Isn’t that the fake wrestling?” With all the intensity of a kid defending Santa Claus, he said, “It’s not fake! It’s REAL!” My college education started yelling, “ABORT! ABORT!” but my fascination with personality disorders and large-scale disasters kept me on the line.
Then Kevin said, “I’m not so good at this dating thing. How’s it supposed to work?” With all the patience of someone who worked with 30 ten-year-olds every day, I answered, “First you ask me to coffee because then we’re only committed to an hour with each other, and either of us can make an excuse to leave at any point. All that will have been lost is the $1.90 for my Americano. If you like me you wait two to three days to call me as to not appear desperate, and then you can ask me to dinner. If I like you back I might say yes. But I might not.”
I then asked Kevin what he would wear so I could recognize him. He said, “I know! I have this shirt that is so ugly no one in his right mind would wear it. How ‘bout I wear that and you’ll know who I am the minute you walk through the door?!”
Yeah…how ‘bout not.
But as I didn’t know any Kurts or Kareems or Karls, I resigned myself to meeting Kevin at the coffee house “JJJ”. Because along with personality disorders and large-scale disasters, I also love irony.