Powdered Toast Man?

(Eight steps to solid characters, this week on Jared's Inkwell - JMG)


Story Sent in by Phoebe:

Ron wrote me over a dating site, and he was charming and sweet enough for me to write him back. He also had some good-looking pictures, although he was a little shorter than my ideal height. Still, I liked what I saw and read, and so when he asked me out, a couple of weeks after that first message, I was on board for a first date.

Okay, yeah. So when he showed up at the restaurant, he was so tanned that I didn't recognize him at first. He was browner than a tater tot. "Hey!" he shouted, and pulled me into a hug.

"Ron?" I asked, "What... uh..."

"What is it?" he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Um... nothing. You're... it's great to see you."

I'm serious: the guy was so tanned that he looked like someone completely different. Maybe there's such a thing as a healthy tan, but this went way beyond. It wasn't at all attractive, and I found that it preoccupied me too much to have an enjoyable time.

We sat down to dinner, and not long after we ordered drinks, I said to him, "So, you're... tan."

He stretched out his arms in front of himself and looked them up and down. "You think so? I go tanning sometimes."

So you're saying that fluorescent burnt umber isn't a color found in nature? Whoa. "Sometimes?" I asked, "You're really tan."

"Is that okay?"

It was... but, I mean, he looked ridiculous. I wasn't attracted to him at all, in that state. Maybe I was being superficial, but I'm also being honest.

"It's fine," I said.

"Good."

I did my best to be engaging for the rest of dinner. I really did. I tried so hard to ignore his tan, but he definitely picked up on my lack of enthusiasm. In the middle of a conversation about something that had nothing to do with his tan, he blurted, "You really have a problem with my tan, don't you?"

"Uh–I–well, it, I mean, you, it–"

"I'm really pale without it," he explained, "You've seen my profile photos."

"They looked good."

"No, they sucked. I'm retaking them all to show me how I look, now."

"...okay."

"Because you're one of the one-in-a-thousand women who apparently doesn't find a tanned guy attractive."

"I guess."

"Maybe you should go see a therapist," he suggested, "That's not normal."

"Okay, Ron. You're just so freaking tan."

He put his fork down a little too hard, leaned in, and said, "We're splitting this, okay?"

"Okay."

Dinner was essentially a done deal, after that. The waitress came by, we took care of the check, and went on our ways. Sure enough, less than a week later, all of Ron's profile pictures were replaced with newer, tanner ones. They looked so funny, and I can't imagine that he ended up attracting more women as a result. But who knows?