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Thursday, May 19, 2011

"What size are your feets?"

In my relentless quest to make my time in New York as adventurous as possible, I decided to plunge into the pond of online dating. About a week ago, I created a profile on Match and signed up for a month's membership. Worst case scenario, I'd get some good stories, right?

Right.

I had a very pleasant coffee date on Sunday afternoon with a French guy named Alexis. He just moved her for work with an accounting firm. Our conversation went so well, coffee led to a walk followed by wine and tapas. I'm looking forward to our next date.

Tuesday night after work, I headed to a Midtown champagne bar to meet a Lebanese man named Elie. On his profile, he seemed a bit silly and irreverent, but also sophisticated and worldly. He lived in Paris for 15 years, he speaks four languages, he loves Khalil Gibran. I was excited to meet him because I loved my time in Lebanon so much last summer. Lebanese people are lively and fun, so I knew we'd have a interesting conversation.

I had on a patterned red wrap dress with my tall black boots. Elie has lived in the U.S. for a decade, thus I was surprised that his English was still a little rough. Nevertheless, he was easy to talk to, and I was having a pleasant enough time for a blind date with a stranger.

After about an hour of talking, Elie leaned toward me and gestured toward my boots.

"What size are your feets?"

I was confused, and I think my face showed it. "What size?" I asked, wondering if I'd heard him correctly. Did he really say feets? "They're 9s. Pretty big, huh?"

He pointed again. "Do you get them in the ladies section?"
 
"Um, yes -- ah, what do you mean?" I was confused. Where was this going?
 
"Your shoes -- do they sell them in the ladies section? Or do you have to go somewhere else?" Apparently this was his idea of a joke.
 
"Oh -- no -- actually, I got them at a shop that caters to drag queens."

He liked that. "You are a funny girl! Tell me this -- what is your sign?"

My sign? Seriously? Was he still joking? "Virgo," I said. "What's yours?"

The right answer didn't come to me until hours later, after an awkward parting. I got home and told the story to my roommate, Kurt, who provided the perfect response:

My sign? You see that Exit sign, Buddy? That's my sign.

7 comments:

Carrots said...

I always respond with "STOP!"

Robin DuMont said...

haha- good for you! I'll be expecting some new material soon! :) BTW_ Chris was just asking about you last night & I told him it sounds like you are enjoying all kinds of wonderful adventures in NY! So happy to hear about them!

Amanda said...

Your fun dating stories always remind me of our "tall tale" for "Miss" Suzie's English class!

Nicole said...

OMG - Love it! I'm impressed you were so quick on your feets with the Drag Queen shop comment.

Page said...

Please tell me you did not have to get out your wallet after being asked about the size of your feets.

Sherry said...

I'm speechless. Feets? Clueless in the romance department - make that the good manners department - actually not a good score in any department of any kind any where! Let's hope he is one of a kind. (and that is one too many)

Mandy said...

Oh, Lynsley! What a freak!! I'm so sorry you had such a terrible time, but at least you got an excellent story out of it. I highly suggest starting to nickname these disasters. It makes for lots of alliterative fun.