Like many of my stories, this one begins on OK Cupid with a clever message. I don’t remember what this guy sent, but I do know that it was interesting, and that we corresponded for a little while. I was excited to meet up with him – again, I wasn’t sure he was at all attractive, but he did seem smart and interesting and had great glasses.

We agreed to just meet up at my apartment. I don’t remember why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time to just share a bottle of wine on my couch. Clearly, I need to set up more boundaries against being alone in any apartment with a strange man. But that’s not the issue of this story.

Anyway, this guy showed up at my apartment, and he looked like he had been born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. His forehead-to-face ratio was pretty off. Yes, this is the second retard I have mentioned on here. I’m seriously scraping the bottom of the barrel in the dating world.

We started talking, and he was unbelievably pretentious. He talked about film and shit, and kept insisting that he was so ashamed that people always said he was a hipster. I just drank a lot of wine. Eventually, we moved outside to my back patio area for a cigarette. We started talking about great HBO shows. We discussed Game of Thrones (duh, amazing), and Boardwalk Empire, and then conversation turned to Sex and the City. I told him that I actually thought it was a pretty brilliant show – sure, there were a lot of shoes and sex, but I have always noticed more the positive representation of friendships between women, and women, at that, who had their own careers, supported themselves, and didn’t particularly need or want to get married. He disagreed, and then went on a five-minute tirade about how much he hated it. He talked about how it was shallow and stupid and blah blah blah.

At some point, I referenced a specific episode, and asked if he had seen it.

“Oh, I’ve actually never seen it,” he said.

“Wait,” I said, “you’ve never actually seen the show? And you just spent five minutes shitting on it?”

He didn’t say anything.

The date was pretty much over from that point, obviously. I decided to be difficult and contrarian, and he was just trying to finish his wine as quickly as possible. When he was done, he took his leave. Needless to say, there was no second date.