War Games
Just over 10 years ago, I went out with a man named Dion. I’d include the correct pronunciation, but to this day I still don’t know how to say his name. You see, he referred to himself in the third person and kept changing the way he pronounced it. This didn’t happen once or twice, but dozens of times over the course of our four hour dinner. The reason dinner was so long was because he wanted me to know what he had to offer me, by showing me a three-inch stack of photos of himself. I know it was three inches because he proudly withdrew a ruler and measured it.
The photos could only be classified into two categories: those of him re-enacting the first and second World Wars at an official re-enactment site, or those of him and his friends re-enacting the same wars on his own miniature backyard re-enactment field using what appeared to be uniformed Ken dolls. Three hours into our photo dinner date, he took a breath from talking about himself and finally uttered his first and only words that had anything to do with me: “You’re such a wonderful person,” to which I couldn’t help but reply, “Really, what would make you say that?” No answer.
At this point I was hoping to establish a quick getaway, when it suddenly arrived. We were dining outside and a cat jumped the fence and came up to our table. Before the waiter was able to shoo it away, Dion picked up the mangy stray cat and began kissing and playing with it. Fur flew everywhere, including on his steak, but he simply picked it off and continued to eat. I pleaded allergies at that moment and asked for my valet ticket. He decided to leave too and had the valet bring our cars. He said good-bye, drove off and left me with the valet charges for both vehicles.
