“Does this smell OK to you?” she asked in her squealy voice while wiggling her toes in my face. I sighed. It most definitely did not smell good. This was the third failed dating attempt of the week. My friend had come up with an “ingenious” method to finding the girl of my dreams, but then again, the only girls my friend meets are on World of Warcraft. Pick a random host of girls, as diverse as you like, and date them each once. Advance each one you like one date up until you’e found the perfect girl. So far it wan’t working.

Next.

The fourth day. Oh boy. Black leather jacket, black pants, black studded boots. Purple hair. She drew up to my table at Old Country Buffet.

“Pain. Misery. The world is falling apart.”

I got the feeling she liked to read stuff like On That Day, or something.

Next.

What’s this? All of a sudden, bright lights come down in the restaurant, everyone hushes as a girl walks in with auburn hair and a perfect face.

“Hi,” she says in a baritone voice.