I'd had a vague presentiment that this was not going to be an enjoyable date. As I studied the menu and tried to listen to Larry's opinions on the stock market, my premonition consolidated into disheartening certainty. Larry was nice enough; polite, courteous, clean -- and utterly boring. He was of medium height, had eyes, hair, and clothes of medium color, was of medium intelligence, and spoke in a medium voice.

"Given all this, it would be a mistake to buy now; this might change overnight, of course…" Larry went on and on. I had long lost track of the gist of his argument, and I didn't care either. All I could think of was that we hadn't even ordered our meals, and he was already boring me to death. When the server brought our drinks, I interrupted Larry's loquacity and asked him about his hobbies, not expecting a turn for the worse.

"Glad you should ask," he said. "I'm a collector. I collect matchbooks. Not matchboxes, mind you, but matchbooks. At first glance, you wouldn't think that this kind of activity could fill out your leisure time, but it is actually a fascinating subject…"

I reproached myself for giving him this cue. It was worse than the stock market. I sipped on my ginger ale and wished that humans had not only eyelashes but also earlashes so that they might shut out unwanted blabber.

As things stood, I put on my interested smile that had served me so well in high school and cursed my friend Debbie, who had set me up with this talking machine. He hadn't even asked what I did for a living! This was going to be a long and tedious evening.

In the middle of the main course, the daydreams I had been indulging in -- behind a mask of feigned enthusiasm for matchboxes -- finally turned to Carl. Now Carl was, in many ways, the exact opposite of Larry. There was a time when I'd thought that that was a bad thing -- the time when I suggested we take a break and maybe see other people. I wasn't so sure about that now. Granted, I’d been really furious that one time when he came over unannounced after his trip to the lake and brought all his smelly fishing buddies; but at least he didn't play with matchbooks all day. Sure, he could be flaky sometimes, like when he said he'd pick my mother up at the mall and take her home, but it wasn't really his fault that she didn't show up until an hour after the appointed time. The more I thought about it, the fewer faults I could find with Carl. In fact, there was a lot that spoke in his favor. For one thing, he really did care about me, even if he didn't always show it. He had wide interests -- literature, movies, politics, history, travel -- and it was always a joy to listen to him. I sighed inwardly. These reminiscences only made the present less bearable. I tried to put Carl out of my mind, but the thought of him now seemed to be glued into my brain.