Twenty years ago I agreed to one more blind date. Blind dates had become a staple to my life as everybody seemed to see me as a special "project." I agreed to the blind date because 1) my sort-of boyfriend had not yet come to see me even though I'd been back in the country for nearly a week after being gone all summer, 2) I knew I'd never give him my address so he'd never be able to stalk me and 3) I liked talking to him when he called.
We met for lunch at a Mongolian barbecue place and by the time he'd paid the bill I'd asked him out for the following night. He asked me where to pick me up. I told him I'd meet him there, again thwarting any stalking ideologies. No way would I be caught alone without an escape plan. What might this handsome man do to me?
Eventually he did get me alone and I had no escape plan so I told him about my sort of boyfriend whom I'd been kissing the night before (I didn't tell him that). My now former blind date evened the score and kissed me under the stars. He was my last blind date.
And now he knows where I live.