The Mothership Should've Warned Me About This One

So, what do you wear when it's about 95 degrees and tropically humid? Apparently the man I was meeting for drinks hadn't heard about summer. I knew it was going to suck when he came over to me wearing black wool pants and a black wool sweater on one of the hottest days of the year. In all fairness, it was clear that he wasn't completely thrilled with what he saw either, since I swear to god that he sneered at me.

For some reason, we didn't just end it there. I decided to overlook the sweated-out underarms of his wool sweater. He apparently decided to overlook my general distastefulness. We ordered glasses of wine and sat down on a couch in the lounge.

He immediately started telling me how super awesome he is. He's a Civil War re-enactor. On the Confederate Side. Fine, but when you're African-American, why is that your hobby? Also, he is an avid fencer. As in "en garde!" And he's very, very smart because he reads about physics.

As I listen to him drone on and on about nothing I want to know, I start to rub behind my ear. It's just a little tick I have -- it's unconscious and seems to relax me. I'm thinking about graceful exit strategies. Anything to get out of there. But I'm a nice girl, I don't want to do the "I'm going to the bathroom" thing and then leave.

He stops and asks me if I'm ok. I realize he's saying this because I'm rubbing my head like I have a migraine. This, my friends, is suddenly my exit strategy. But do I go with the whole "migraine" thing? No. Instead I say: "Oh....yeah, there's a ringing in my head. It happens ever since I got this implant."

He looks at me and asks, "What?" And not in a kind, understanding tone.

I'm in kind of deep now. It's all or nothing. I look him straight in the eye and tell him "The aliens put it in me. When I was abducted about a year ago. Sometimes when it's humid like this, it buzzes." And miraculously with this, I keep a totally straight face and lean into him. I say "Here, want to feel. You can feel the little bump where the implant is."

He declines -- which I suppose is good since I really don't have an alien implant behind my ear, so there wouldn't be anything to feel. Instead he suddenly remembers a really important meeting on the other side of town. On a Sunday afternoon. He puts down a $20 and walks out.

Good riddance. I get in my car, drive past him in his car -- talking on his cell phone, no doubt telling his friends about the freak he just met -- and head back to the refuge of my apartment.

Another man down. Only about a million more out there.