Nooo, he wasn't Danny DeVito or one of the Munchkins. And, if it weren't so funny, it would have been sad.
Beating back the impulse of last minute date cancellation and letting my fantasy take over, I agreed to meet the prince of looks, riches, and IQ higher than 160 at a popular lunchtime restaurant.
I was on time he was late but I figured someone as handsome, wealthy and obviously brilliant would be worth waiting for.
He arrived in a Toyota Camry and not in the Rolls or Bentley as I had hoped. I told myself it was charming that he underplayed his high profile. He was tall, not entirely unattractive and though I had to lower my standards, my thoughts instantly went to being more realistic. After all I'm not such a hot babe in my size 18.
I had my reservations but decided after our introduction to one another, to be patient and look for deeper meaning and be less judgmental. After all, maybe he loved Beethoven and Rembrandt. I was pleased and surprised at the magnitude of my munificence.
We decided to order lunch. I ordered first. A salad didn't want him to think my size frame was caused by an overindulgence of fatty foods.
Doesn't sound too bad yet, does it?
Ok, so call me a snob. I could forgive the short brown ankle socks but it was way beyond my limitations to accept a man that would ask such a question. It was then I thought he probably never ate sushi, wanted his steak tartare well done and had a preference for polyester.
I quickly ate some of my salad, told him politely it was nice meeting him, thanked him for lunch and bolted.
I may have missed the chance of a lifetime but who cares anyway?