Over three years ago, I went on a date with a guy in Chicago who hated his job and had the same first name as my father. He'd previously Googled me and read all my poems and biographical notes. Throughout the date, I would start to say something about myself, and he would finish my sentence. I thought it was a good date overall, in the sense that I didn't do anything horribly embarrassing, and he laughed at my jokes.
Then a couple days later, I wrote him a jokey email. He wrote back to say we shouldn't see each other anymore because he thought I should get a bachelors degree. "Then some day I'll see your name in The New Yorker, and say to myself, 'I bought that girl a vegetarian platter.'"