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The perfect…man?

The perfect…man?

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Published by Ian Bahas
A story about man who is not quite who he seems. A short, short little story I wrote for one of my classes. Assignment was to write in the first person of the opposite gender....so of course I decided to go over the top
A story about man who is not quite who he seems. A short, short little story I wrote for one of my classes. Assignment was to write in the first person of the opposite gender....so of course I decided to go over the top

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Published by: Ian Bahas on Jan 28, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Ian Bahas
The Perfect.....Man?Three days ago at the grocery store the perfect man asked me out on a date. ME!Gorgeous, funny, rich, good with kids, you name it! He’s taking me out to this a Japanese placecalled Ichigo's Beautiful Squid Pagoda. Weird name, but he assured me the food is out of thisworld. JUST as I am finishing my makeup he knocks on the door with that hilarious knock youalways hear on sitcoms. When I open the door, he is standing there with the most beautiful blueorchids I have ever seen and a big smile on his face like he is the one getting the good end ofthe deal here. “Are you ready for the best night of your short life?” he asks in that deep voice ofhis. Ignoring the short part, I answer “Why yes kind sir, would let us be off.”.As I take his hand, I notice it feels a bit...slimy. Not like sweaty palms wet either, butactual slime. He notices my discomfort and, realizing the reason for it, quickly pulls out ahandkerchief to wipe whatever was on it off of his hands. When we reach the car (a Benz!) heopens the door for me and cheerfully yells “all aboard!”. Laughing, I step into the car to find oneof the strangest setups I have ever seen. A picture of the moon on the moon roof, green lightingeverywhere, shag carpeting seats, a fake mustache hanging from the rearview mirror, and someweird letters...I guess russian or something like that. I have always been terrible with languages.On the way there we talk and I find out he was the CEO of a tech startup that hit it bigwith some kind of algorithm or whatever. That explains the car, all those tech guys have weirdtastes. When I turn to ask what this algorithm does exactly, I notice his eyes are reflecting thelight from the street lights, kinda like a cat. As I try to wipe that stupid look on my face, he savesthe conversation by telling an absolutely horrible knock knock joke that sends me into fits oflaughter.We reach the restaurant talking happily about the latest developments on a sitcom weboth watch. So far the date has gone great, minus a few hiccups, but hey, everybody has their
Ian Bahas
little eccentricities. As he hands his keys to the valet, who is also drop-dead gorgeous (maybe Ican introduce him to michelle...), they converse in some strange language and occasionally lookat me. Obviously these two are friends and he is bragging about his good fortune. When thevalet turns to get into the car though, his eyes also seem to reflect the light. Weird, maybe theyare brothers? Anyways, we go into the restaurant and, as expected, it is filled with all kinds ofupper-crust types, all of which seeming to be around 25-35. Not a single lined face in the crowd.He walks up to the host, mentions our reservations, and we are seated at a window with abeautiful view of the city.After a few minutes the waiter (yet another hottie! Do they get their people through amodeling agency or something?) brings our menus. Yikes! You could feed a family of 6 with theprice of an appetizer here. As I am about to order, the menu flickers for a moment, showingmore of that weird lettering, then goes back to normal. How is that even possible? this is a papermenu, not a screen. Eh, probably nerves. He seems, again, to notice my discomfort and does alittle magic trick with his hands and a flower (ok, I know, I am easily amused. Deal with it.). Thisseems to get things back on track and we start discussing his past. To be honest, the wholething reads like a perfect man’s guide to perfection and perfectness. Has a wonderful mom anddad, only child, volunteered at homeless shelters and soup kitchens throughout his life,quarterback of his high school football team , made eagle scout, graduated valedictorian at bothhis high school and MIT. The only way this man could be more perfect is if he were if he hadchocolate for blood.It is at this point we get our food. It is at this point that I come to a chilling revelation. Thewaiter bringing our food looks exactly the same as the host, who looks just like the valet, wholooks just like every other staff member in this place, who looks like every single other man inthis place. And who looks just like my date. I look down at my plate and realize just what it is I

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