I had high hopes for this one. I really did.

Well spoken, witty, and smart, he seemed very promising. Conversations flowed so easily and effortlessly, and it seemed our dark, off beat senses of humor were made for one another. It was too good to be true.

During one of our dates, I went to his tiny and adorable apartment for wine and cheese. Could this be any cuter? Looking around, I could tell that he took pride in the way his home looks – a rare find in most men (screw it, people) I’ve met. There was a place for everything and everything in its place. I found out that the kitchen table was the place for the post-it bouquet.

Allow me to explain. In the pristine apartment, there, sitting on the kitchen table, was an empty glass vase. Within the inside rim of the vase there was a yellow post-it with the stick figure equivalent of a bouquet of daisies. I inquired, and immediately regretted it. He had apparently forgotten to purchase fresh flowers, but he “arranged a bouquet anyway.” He was serious. Dead serious. Drawing two and a half flowers a 4 year old can draw does not a flower arrangement make. You will see no bride walking down the aisle to meet her groom holding a post-it with a scribble of a lovely combination of roses and hydrangeas. Maybe because it’s weird, but really because they’re not actually flowers. Moving on.

His refrigerator was petite and sized for people of the 11th century. It was covered in pictures, magnets, notes, postcards, but interestingly, no post-its. As he was preparing our intricate meal of 3 delectable cheeses (1 smelly, 2 not smelly), toasted French baguette, cornichons, and red wine, I took my time in examining the artful canvas that was the tiny fridge. He noticed and wanted to provide some insight as to some of the items I was looking at. There was a picture of Patrick. He’s in Hawaii with his boyfriend studying marine biology. Then there was Gloria. Gloria’s the BEST! Her dad is a crazy drunk, but you know, he’s a Frenchie, so, it’s ok. Then there was Anthony and Michael. And Sophia, Raul, Charlie, and Dan. Sophia and Raul have been together for the longest – it’s adorable that they won’t just get married already! The list went on and on, and I’m pretty sure that at one point he was convinced, that I, too, knew these people, and he was just trying to jog my memory to help me recognize these people. I have no idea, and still don’t, who any of those people are.

We went outside for dinner and sat in the quaint little patio. Maybe it was the humidity, but he all of a sudden had zero interest in anything I had to say. That little patio became his stage for all things weird. And oh boy, did he put on quite the performance. The conversation was centered around him, and his life, and his likes and dislikes. My opinions were just fillers in the conversation, and he seemed annoyed to have to endure them before he could introduce his next self-centered comment. One of his likes, I learned, was plants. After a short description of each plant as if they were beauty pageant contestants, he insisted that I guess how long he’s had each one. I felt like I was on the price is right, except with no exciting audience, no new car to win, and with absolutely zero interest whatever horseshit was going on. He wouldn’t take “I don’t know” for an answer. I couldn’t care less how long that damn bromeliad had been in his possession, or how much the fern has grown since he first acquired it 6 years ago from his elderly neighbor who passed. Was this guy serious? Is this exercise seriously more engaging and entertaining than anything else I could possibly have to say? Wow.

During some portion of the conversation, I was rudely and quite abruptly interrupted by him exclaiming, almost in surprise, “I wonder what Anthony’s making for family dinner!” It was as if the thought came to him, and it was his civic duty to spit it out immediately. First of all, who is Anthony? What is “family dinner,” (since your family doesn’t even live here)? And more importantly, at least to me, I was talking. This guy had absolute no notion of well established norms of social interaction. Or maybe he did, and he just big fat didn’t care. Anyway, if you remember, Anthony was featured on the tiny fridge, so that comment should certainly not have come as a surprise to me. I really should have known better. Was this the plant game revamped, and I had to guess what Anthony would cook? Is this his way of inviting me to “family dinner”? Nope. Neither. I think he really did just wonder what Anthony would be making, and that moment, that very moment when I was speaking, was the moment he needed to ponder that – out loud. Again, wow.

We went inside, and after I politely offered to help with dishes, he insisted I take a seat on the couch. Next to the cat. I’m painfully allergic to cats. He joined me on the couch, and no matter how many times he shooed the damn cat away, it always returned to sit right next to me. Maybe it was trying to tell me something. “Leave before he makes you guess my name. Leave now. No one ever wins this game.” I was growing more and more uncomfortable because cat dander allergies are never a sexy sight. Thanks to his quick wit, though, he had a plan! He brought out a hypoallergenic pillow. I was as confused as you might be reading this, so I will give you the same lesson in pet dander I received that night. This is mind blowing, so prepare yourself. If you place a pillow of hypoallergenic properties between yourself and the allergen (in this case – cat), you will no longer experience the allergic reaction. I’m not sure that he realized that I was allergic to CAT, and if you put CAT on pillow, albeit hypoallergenic, I’m still allergic to CAT. What is happening?

At this point, I was just so amused, that nothing could deter me – or so I thought. We talked on the couch for a while listening to what I can only imagine is the Western cultures’ equivalent to elevator music. He implied we should have sex, and his selling point to get me to concede was that he had a “Cambodian condom made from wheat husk.” Prevention of pregnancy and STIs is not exactly the time when you want to be all about foreign economies and saving the earth with “green” practices. Maybe it’s just me, but I prefer good ol’ condoms from ‘Merica. He proceeded to get said condom, and looked as a proud as a 5 year old at his first show and tell in kindergarten. Standing in front of some obscure drawer, he then told me everything that was in it until he reached the condom. “This here is my passport. Here are my nail clippers. This is a receipt from CVS.” I stopped him right there and told him that I really had no interest in the condom, or sex for that matter. He was almost offended that I would be so simpleminded in my selection of birth control and even more so a sexual partner. And with that, I politely excused myself. As soon as the door closed behind me, I made a bee line for my car like never before.

The cat’s name is Flea. I won.