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.

Larry was just elaborating on the no doubt fascinating differences between Colombian and Canadian matchbook designs when my cell phone rang. Being one of those people who always frown on phones going off in restaurants, I was a bit embarrassed that I hadn't turned it off. On the other hand, I was grateful for the interruption of my date's eternal monologue. I smiled at Larry, lifted a finger and said sweetly, "Excuse me real quick." I checked the display, but the caller ID was blocked. No matter, I said to myself, anything's better than listening to Larry, and I answered the call.

"Hi sweetheart," Carl's deep voice boomed into my ear, "you having a good time, seeing other people?" There was something in his voice that suggested a smirk.

"Oh yes, Mr. Hardiman, surely." I pretended to speak with my boss.

"Don't worry," Carl said in reply, "I know the fix you're in. If you unobtrusively turn your pretty head about 120 degrees, you'll see me sitting at the bar. That guy's driving you crazy, right?"

That was just like him! He could tell from a distance of twenty feet that I was bored stiff. I was surprised that I hadn't seen him come in, but then the entrance was in my back, and I had been lost in daydreams.

"That's right, Mr. Hardiman."

"How about this: You tell your bore that there's some emergency at work and that you have to leave immediately. I'll have my car at the curb in a minute, and we can go wherever you want."

"Uh-huh. Right. Oh really? Ah well -- I'll be right there."

I flashed Larry an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Larry, to ruin such a perfectly wonderful evening, but there's an emergency at work, and I'm needed immediately. Please excuse me, I really must go."

I put thirty dollars on the table, which was probably more than my share, but all I cared about was getting away. Larry looked at me, flabbergasted. "I thought Debbie said you worked in fashion -- how can there be an emergency?"

"It's a project we do for the Department of Defense," I fibbed, rather transparently, and was out the door.

Carl was waiting outside in his black pick-up truck. I literally jumped into the passenger seat, gave him a peck on the cheek and said, "Take me away from here, please."

He grinned and pulled out. For a few minutes we drove in silence. Then I said: "Carl, are you seeing other women?"

"No. Are you seeing other men?"

"Not after tonight." I sighed.

He stopped the car in front of the bar where we'd first met.

"Would you like to talk?" he asked, putting his hand on mine.

I shook my head. "No, Carl. I just want you to hold me real tight, and never let go."