Ugly Is as Ugly Does

Story Sent in by Shaun:

Lynda had a profile up on a dating site. She seemed very bright and accomplished, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. I thought that I had nothing to lose by writing to her. I wrote a concise email with a little about me, a couple of questions for her, and a sprinkling of humor.

She wrote back two days later: "Dear Shaun: No thanks." Oh well. I guessed that was it.

A week later, she wrote me again. "That's it? You're not going to fight for me?"

I wrote back, "No thanks."

It was a strange exchange, and I thought that it would be the last time that I heard from her. Instead, later that day, I received another terse statement: "6:30 at Molly Malone's. I'll be in red and black."

Molly Malone's was a nearby pub. I thought it strange that Lynda would want to meet me at all, but I had nothing going on that evening, and I was up for the unexpected.

At 6:30, I made it to the pub. As promised, Lynda was in red and black. After introducing herself, she said, "Everything is on me tonight."

I said, "That's nice of you, but you don't have to."

She replied, "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure that you earn it. Could you go grab me an extra napkin?"

I stood up, took a spare napkin from the host's station, and brought it back to the table.

"Good," she said.

The waitress came by to ask for our drink orders. Lynda ordered two Manhattans for both of us without asking me what I wanted. After the waitress left, Lynda asked me, "Why did you write to me in the first place?"

I said, "Because I thought you seemed like a good person to get to know."

Lynda laughed. "That is so adorable! Oh, you're just like the others."

"Others?"

"None of your business… asshole."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm paying for dinner."

The question mark that had been hovering over my head must have blazed brightly indeed by this point. I asked her, "What has that got to do with you calling me an asshole?"

She said, "Everything. You wanted to have a date with me, right?"

"I thought I did."

"Oh, so now you're above me? Is that what you're saying? I can't believe this."

"What are you talking about?"

"I make the time for you and this is how you treat me? You really are an asshole."

"Lynda–"

"And ugly. An ugly asshole." She must have sensed that I was a moment away from leaving, because she added, "I'm paying for dinner, so you might as well stay. Ugly, ugly asshole."

I didn't know what to say. She leaned back, seemingly pretty satisfied with herself. "You'll stay. You always do. It's so funny how much abuse you'll put up with."

As I watched, she reached under the shoulder of her blouse and pulled out a light pink bra strap just enough for me to see. She then licked her lips.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. I held mine up to toast her, but she just rolled her eyes and sipped away. I drank mine down in a couple of minutes, stood, said, "Thanks for the drink," and left her there.

She wrote me that night: "Wow. I'm impressed. If you ever want a proper date, then write me back."

I'd love a proper date. I fear, however, that any date with her would always be anything but.