Crouch or Tiptoe

1

I was sure it was the worst reaction of the week.

I sat at the restaurant table, waiting for my date (why were they always late?). I drummed my fingers against the polished mahogany surface, looking up in boredom just in time to see a smiling man enter the room.

With difficulty, I tried not to scream in frustration. To be honest, I didn't really care how good-looking he was - for me, it was all about the height. That was what determined how compatible you were. So you didn't have to crouch down or stand on your tiptoes if you fancied a kiss. And from what I saw,  this guy didn't have a chance.

I rose from her seat to meet him, ignoring the stares of shock and amusement from the nearby tables, though I was burning with humiliation inside. 

What was the worst thing? Mmm, probably me actually being able to see the moment he realised I was his date and his facial expression drooped. It drooped. It literally went from an eager, friendly smile to a bemused frown.

I swear, his face turned grey. I mean, come on. I couldn't be that bad, could I? I thought I looked pretty decent tonight - minus the 6"11 figure. 

'Hi.' I smiled at him, though inside I was seething with rage. 'I'm Valerie. And you're Adam, right?' Using my own experience, this guy probably measured about 5 foot 7. Pathetic.

He attempted a half-wave and a weak smile back, then slid into the booth like we were sitting on a giant's foot covered in fungi. We sat in silence for a minute. And then do you know what the jerk did? He muttered something about going to the restroom and practically ran from the table. 

As soon as he disappeared, I stood up. I scribbled something on a napkin, left it in the booth and smiled at the waiter as I strode towards the exit. I half-laughed when I glanced at my watch. Not even 7:30 yet - it was a new personal record.

Well, at least that Adam moron would be happy. He would rather have a napkin saying 'Have a good life, bastard,' than me, right?