"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.