I always choose the same restaurant for first dates because the staff has learned not to stare. The host knows that I’m partial to the table just to the right of the main entrance; that way the poor girls have a minimal amount of time to react to my face, hands, fur and tail. When they realize that my profile picture was not a mask or gag prosthetic they turn around and leave. Sometimes I try and say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I really am a giant rat.
The girl I’m waiting for right now is named Marie. According to her OkCupid profile, which I’ve printed out, folded and stuffed into the inside pocket of my sport coat, she thinks online dating is for losers. She has no favorite inspirational quotes, no favorite movies listed except an obscure German documentary about cheese making, and under “activities” she has written, “Is anyone really reading this?” According to her, she’ll know what she wants when she sees it. Her profile picture shows a woman in her late-twenties with a sharp face, shrugging, sporting a ponytail and a pair of thick-rimmed, blue glasses.
My profile pic is of me standing on the prow of a sailboat out on Lake Michigan. It was taken last summer on a day when I decided to rent a boat and a photographer.
Some of the non-regular customers are beginning to whisper; I can hear them because I can always hear everything. Someone over my left shoulder, maybe 20 feet away, is whispering, “No, I said a giant rat.
