A Catfish Episode

Beware the too perfect man. 

After I got my toes wet with online dating by responding to men’s posts, I finally decided to post my own profile.  I discovered that articulately posting what I was seeking received a lot of attention – some really good, some complete trash.  One day, I received a message from a gorgeous Adonis and I quickly got excited.  His messages were interesting and fun.  He seemed to be open to spending a little time getting to know me.  He was successful – something in business finance.  He was single, masculine, but not machismo, athletic and tall.  He sent me his pictures.  Yep, he looked like a casual, broad-shouldered, comfortable-with-himself Adonis.

Quickly enough I gave him my phone number.  He called almost immediately after I sent it.  I suspect he wanted to confirm that the number was me and make sure I, at least, had a woman’s voice.  We talked for a bit, but not too long. We texted later that night; he called the next day.  Initially, I was slightly taken aback by his intensity, but it was quite nice to be pursued by a man who seemed genuinely to be interested in me.  The conversations were engaging.  We starting talking almost daily.  I had to set some ground rules about my availability to talk since I wouldn’t give up my evening time with my kids to chat with him.  He accepted my boundary – no problem.  Day-by-day I had less interest in following up on other good responses to my profile.

We talked about meeting.  He said he wanted to take me out.  He wanted to spend the afternoon paddle-boarding and exploring downtown.  Then he was going to take me to dinner.  Then, he had to give it a pass for a business trip that came up the day before we were going to go. 

Ok.  It happens.  It really does.

He grew up in the north somewhere.  I don’t remember where, the relevant bit is that he grew up playing hockey.  I can skate, but not well.  He wanted to take me ice skating.  Fine. Fun.  I don’t take myself too seriously.  Then, he went uncharacteristically quiet between making the plans and the day of the plans.  I reached out to touch base.  He responded quickly…to tell me that he’d sprained his ankle. 

He cancelled the date.  He didn’t want my first impression of him to be on crutches.

I suggested that this would only make him cuter and more appealing; he didn’t buy it.  He told me that meeting would have to wait the week or so until he was healed.  I understood and expressed my sympathies.  In response, he sent me a picture of his bandaged ankle and foot.

At about this point, our phone conversations started changing.  He would call to talk after I had put my kids to bed.  Instead of engaging banter, he began shifting the conversation to more sexual topics, in not-so-subtle ways.  The first time or two I took the bait, letting the conversation get a bit racy, but not all the way to phone sex. 

As it became a habit over his week of recovery,  I started telling him that I had to get to bed soon after he shifted to the topic.  A few times, I mentioned that I’d love to meet and he would, again, say it would have to wait until he was better. 

I relayed the story to one of my girlfriends.  Her comment? “He’s a catfish episode.” 

I began to suspect heavily that she was right.

He wound up being on crutches for two weeks, instead of the original one.  But, then he had to get caught up on the work that he had missed for doctor’s appointments and being in pain.

One evening I was downtown having a coffee with a girlfriend, not too far from where he’d said he lives.  She had to leave early so I called him.  He was home.  I told him where I was and that I was unexpectedly free.  I asked if he wanted to meet for a drink spontaneously.  He turned me down flat.  I told him that I really was interested in meeting him. It was still early, but he had to get to bed.

‘Um hmm.’ I thought.

I accepted that this was done when I went ahead and made other plans on top of our plans (something I DON’T do) because I KNEW he was going to flake.  All too predictably, he did.  He had finally suggested making plans again - meeting at a tapas bar - something more low key than his original date suggestions.  However, his ankle started hurting again and he wanted to go home and get off of it.

When a man blows you off repeatedly his lack of interest says all that needs saying.  However, I kept texting with him.  I let it appear that he was stringing me along because I wanted to know just where he thought he was going to take this.  Call it educational curiosity.

The night of our cancelled date he called and tried again to get me to have phone sex with him.  I didn’t.  The next day I asked how his ankle was feeling and he told me that he had had to go back to the doctor.  It looked like he might have to have surgery.  Poor baby.

Now, before you get too far down the pity train for him I was already there.  This is being told in hindsight.  I knew things weren’t adding up, but I also didn’t want to be that person who’s an insensitive, demanding bitch when someone’s actually injured.  He was playing to my heartstrings, as well as a stranger can.

I expressed my sorrow at his continued injury.  He texted me a couple of photos of his ankle and foot.  It did look painful.  I felt a little bad.  Maybe he really was injured and that self-conscious about meeting me in any state of less-than-himself self.

However, something bothered me, although I couldn’t pinpoint it.  He had sent me a picture of his injury several weeks before.  I went back to it and put all three pictures together, side-by-side.  In the second set of pictures his second toes were longer than the big ones; in the first picture, they weren’t.  His feet looked wider in the one picture than the others, but it’s hard to compare when pictures are from different angles. 

Then I noticed something else.  Not only were his injured feet mismatched in shape and size, one of the pictures was of a left foot, and the others were of a right one. 

Catfish episode indeed.  For all I know my lovely Adonis was a 300-lb woman in Alaska with a voice modulator.  Or, maybe he was married.  All I know is that whoever he was, he just wanted phone sex from the start.

Despite the fact that I had already figured out everything I needed to know, it took the pictures showing that he was full of bull for me to get my fill.  Educational exploration over.  I opened my address book and changed his name to Mr. Mismatched Feet.  Why didn’t I just delete him? 

So that I could block him.