Over time, I began to pick up red flags. Maybe I'd ignore them, maybe I wouldn't, but I started to be more respectful of my gut.
Then, there are times when a meeting has a fleet of red flags that are completely offset by the blood rushing to parts that aren't terribly good at balanced decision making.
She was 6'0". Her photos were all professional (red flag #1), and she lived in an area of Los Angeles that was a bit rough (red flag #2). I wasn't sure if I was being catfished or not, but the fact is, most women saying they were that tall wouldn't have lied about it. As we chatted, she told me she was a model (red flag #3), but enjoyed meeting men online because the guys she met on shoots were assholes (red flag #4).
After a few days of chatting, we agreed to meet up. Having not learned my lesson, I drove to her place to pick her up. (Red flag #5, because, why is a woman letting me go to her place without knowing her?)
As I approached, I realized, not only did she live in a sketchy area, but she was in a trailer park. And not a nice one. I considered leaving, but the idea of meeting a gorgeous woman who was so tall commandeered my executive function. I parked, walked up the rickety aluminum stairs, and knocked on the screen--it rattled brutally--and she came to the door. The smell of cigarette smoke overwhelmed my senses--either she, or the previous 50 occupants, or both, smoked constantly. It was distracting...but she was wearing a slinky red dress, nothing too fancy, but her slim frame and perfectly sized curves filled it out perfectly.
I had what could best be described as decision paralysis. She was, bluntly, a specimen. She invited me inside. As if in a trance, I followed.
The smoke smell was worse inside. The walls and ceiling were yellowed from what I'm assuming was nicotine, and the carpet just had that low-pile, old look and feel to it. I was scared to take of my shoes. We stood, talking a little bit; she was glad I hadn't lied about my height, and I just wanted to know what she looked like without the dress...and I found out...she shimmied the dress off to reveal what was, to this the day, the most perfect body I had ever seen.
Except for one thing.
She sauntered over to the table, grabbed a cigarette, lit it up, and asked if I wanted one.
And it clicked. I couldn't do this.
I apologized profusely, and oddly, she was completely understanding. I left, wondering if I'd made the right decision. I'm pretty sure I had.
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