The First of many First Dates.

What did I just say? Mark. Wait… is that even his name?

I blame the heat. It was a disgustingly sticky New York evening, one of those nights where subway passengers and bar-goers alike brave the conditions only to leave little ass sweat angels on their seats. I was half a beer into my first ever Match.com date, and “dull” is the most flattering way I could describe the situation. I put my mind on autopilot and launched into a story I’ve told thousands of times, one that involves spring break, Munich, a strong beer festival, and finishes with dancing on tables amid lederhosen-clad Bavarians. It’s a real crowd pleaser. It was in the middle of this story that I found my mind wandering. Then I gestured in my date’s direction and said his name. Mark.

Mark. Marrrrrrk. He doesn’t look like a Mark. He’s from the Philippines, right? I don’t remember his name being difficult to pronounce. That’s right, he took an English name. Maybe “Stan” or “Donald”… it sounded like something out of a popular baby names book from the 1950s.

Shit. Focus.

I looked up from my pint and froze. Usually I hold a person’s gaze for an almost unnerving amount of time, but I had been absentmindedly people watching while telling my tale. Years ago some magazine published a pop psychology article on eye contact, which concluded that averting your eyes from another person’s gaze was an expression of either submission or fear, neither of which are particularly appealing in a date. Whether there’s any truth behind it I have no idea – what I do know is that he was 39, unattractive, and questionably employed, so I wasn’t concerned with turning on my A-game charm.

The confirmation of my mistake was written all over his face. I had indeed called him the wrong name.

LEONARD!! HIS NAME IS LEONARD! Wow. Mark and Leonard are not even close. L and M are neighbors in the alphabet, but those names are on two different continents. Dammit mom, why did you have to yell at me about my enunciation today of all days?

Mumbling couldn’t possibly have covered it up. Still, I had taken her advice to heart and “Mark” came out of my mouth, perfectly articulated. Clear, crisp consonants began and ended the word. He looked confused. Honestly, given the way our date was going this was hardly the lowest point in the night.

I arrived at the bar right on time and started looking around for my date, a 5’ 8’’ juiced-up Asian with a scraggly ponytail and tattoos. From his pictures, he appeared to be as wide as he was tall and built like a brick shithouse. If the bodybuilding, Mr. Olympia version of Arnold Schwartzenegger had a lovechild with Jackie Chan, Leonard would have been that child. I spotted someone who matched his description standing at the bar, deep into conversation with another woman. I was still standing near the bar when I saw him get her number, turn toward me, and introduce himself as my date.

Awkward.

The next fifteen minutes were about as enjoyable as a body cavity search. I stumbled on the uneven floor and fell right into him, leading to an uncomfortably long embrace; he explained to our waiter that we were on a blind date, but it was acceptable because I was pretty; and later he brought up our 17-year age gap and wanted to psychoanalyze my “apparent father issues.”

No, you arrogant fuck, I do not have father issues. I lucked out in that department and have the best set of parents a kid could ask for. I’m working my ass off to be as pleasant as possible, but you’re really getting on my last nerve. Prick.

Following his Freudian faux pas, I quickly steered the conversation into safer waters and planned out the rest of the date in my head. Spring break story, laugh laugh laugh, “oh it’s getting late”, and bolt. Unfortunately this little Mark slip-up threw me for a loop. I tried to cover it up with laughter, but it was too late. He heard it. I heard it. Even the waiter heard it. I decided to completely ignore the elephant in the room, skip the rest of my story and get right to the “oh it’s getting late” phase of my plan.

The man still tried to kiss me. I ducked the first pass and narrowly escaped the second - he landed a sloppy, tongue-y one on my cheek before eventually giving up and going home.

Lesson learned: name tags are totally underrated.

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