Dating: The Sum of Its Parts

A blind date can occasionally come along, so ripe with promise and fanfare, that it takes 3 advil, a solid night's sleep and a next day recap to truly comprehend its value (or lack thereof)...

Swept up in the moment and the pre-date hype, I evaluated conversation between Daniel and I to be effortless, choice of swanky hotel bar, ideal and our walk home, promising. Unfortunately, Daniel's balance sheet, quite ample the night of, quickly found its way into the red the following morning - please see tally below:

(-10) - 45 years old and unduly concerned with my choice of colleges, his non-Ivy League education, not withstanding.
(-40) - Insistence that I used the word enamored incorrectly (which, mind you, I used with dictionary example aplomb).
(-45) - Certainty that I did not speak french after clearly telling him that I did:
L "...tried to explain to the Dr. in French."
D "You don't speak French."
L "Yes, I do"
D "Do you speak anything other than Hebrew?"
L "Ummm, yes, I speak French."
(-75) - Description of sister as "simple", followed by "admittance" that he pays for nieces and nephews college tuition.
(-75) - Discussion of five-star vacations and restaurants he takes his "middle class" parents to.
(-65) - Commentary on my accent which began with, "Do you think you have an accent?"
(-55) - Steadfastness that he wants to date only Jewish woman even though the last 10 years he dated only WASPY women.
(-70) - The commitment-phobic induced anxiety attack, he misdiagnosed as run-of-the-mill sweating and dizziness, that ensued when he went to buy one of said WASPS, an engagement ring.
(-100) - Opining on my "too Jewish" and "not quite sophisticated enough" nature to our setter-upper, in addition to his wish for more of a ballerina.

(-535) = One commitment-phobic, nouveau riche, phony 45 year old who will be searching for a Jewish (but not too Jewish), sophisticated ballerina who loves Israel, runs a hedge fund, is fluent in four languages and went to an Ivy League university, for a very very very long time.

QUICKEES

It never fails...I am peacefully eating at the sushi bar and my conversation is inevitably interrupted by the strident tones of the Sushi Aficionado(SA). Characterized by a pompous nature, a remedial knowledge of Japanese and an exaggerated reverence for sushi, the SA often befriends the sushi chef in order to wax poetic about his/her sushi history. The SA also tends to look askance at the sushi simpleton, such as myself, who prefers more of a commercial roll, steeped in spicy sauce and wasabi drizzle. Here's the thing SA, I don't begrudge you your strange, still alive, wiggling crustacean so leave me to my crunchies and tobiko, take off your imaginary kimono and have a little more of that light, yet crisp sake (obviously pronounced SAH-KAY). Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto.