"You have some nerve!" I said to her on the street corner, within earshot of three or four other pedestrians. I was upset with her. She was upset with me. This was not how I had imagined our first meeting would play out.
Perhaps I had let my imagination run wild. After all, it had been three months since I'd last heard from her. But how I could ignore the conversation we'd had? We'd engaged in witty banter. Shared life stories. Revealed to each other our wants and desires. We'd made a connection. I was sure of it.
I should point out that I'd felt a physical attraction to her, too. She was 5'3" with shoulder-length brown hair. Brown eyes. Slender build. Also: she had a bachelor's degree, was a non-smoker, was exercising three to four days per week, had "middle of the road" political views, was earning between $75,000-$100,000 per year, was interested only in long-term dating, and lived within a two-mile radius of my zip code. She was everything I could have possibly wanted in a Match.com profile.
We'd exchanged messages for two weeks before I finally mustered the courage to ask her if I could take her out for a cup of coffee. I didn't receive a response. Match.com may have misplaced my message, I speculated. Or maybe it was buried in her inbox, underneath more recent notes sent by men who were far less compatible with her than I was. I sent another message. Again, no response. I winked at her. Nothing.
Inexplicably, we'd fallen out of touch. My heart ached. I thought I'd lost her forever. That is, until fate brought us together at this street corner, in my neighborhood. As soon as we made eye contact, I was certain it was her. Still, I removed my phone from my coat pocket and pulled up her profile on the Match.com app. I quickly swiped through all 12 of her photos. Yep, it was BumbleBee1983 all right.
She started to walk away, but I called out to her. "BumbleBee1983!" She snapped her head toward me. "I mean, Ashlee! How are you!"
She didn't recognize me at first. Remember, it had been three months since our last communication. I refreshed her memory. "It's me! Shane! Heisenberg62!" After a pause of a few seconds, she replied, "Ohhhhhhh." Six more H's than I would have liked. Nevertheless.
"It's so nice to run into you like this. How have you been?" "Um, OK." "Well I just wanted to say, I really enjoyed our conversation online. I was disappointed that it ended so abruptly. I find you to be an interesting person, Ashlee. I was hoping we can together sometime."
"Listen, Shane, you're very sweet, and we had a nice chat, but I just don't think we're right for each other."
"Really? Because Match said we were a 99% match. Ninety-nine percent. Mathematically, I'm a better option for you than 99 of every 100 men on the site. If you take a pass on me, the odds will not be in your favor."
"Again, I just didn't feel a spark. I'm sorry."
"I see. Let me approach this from a different angle. You wrote in your profile, 'I'm always up for meeting new people!' Am I right?"
"Well, yes, but...."
"And you mentioned you were searching for a man who is kind, loves to travel, and can make you laugh. True?"
"And your headline reads, and I quote, 'Call me maybe.' Yes?"
"OK. I am an extremely kind person. I spent a week in Australia last year. I'm the author of two humor books. And I love Carly Rae Jepsen's music. We are clearly a fit. Go on one date with me. One date! You'll have fun, I know it. We won't even have to try, it will be a good time."
"I'm sorry. The answer is no." She was much more forceful in her rejection this time. That's when I said, "You have some nerve!" And with that, she stormed off. Our first fight had come to an end.
"'Call me maybe.' Whatever," I muttered to myself as I made my way back home. I was deeply hurt. I'd been stung by a BumbleBee1983.