MY WORST INTERNET DATE OF ALL TIME.

This is from my diary, summer of 2000, when I was still in Michigan. I went on an internet singles date SO heinous I had to document it for a sadistic friend who found pleasure in my discomfort.

On these singles sites, you post your picture and profile and get somewhat anonymous emails; it's up to you whether you want to respond or not.

This guy wrote and wanted to get acquainted.

I checked out his profile. He was a John Goodman kinda guy, based on his picture. Well, if Tom Selleck and John Goodman had a baby, so he looked pretty good, handsome in a rugged way.

Height was like 6'3". Big guy, a computer software engineer.

53 years old, new to Novi via Arizona. Working for a company that handles computerized financial systems, in management I think.

Must act kinda youngish to be in computers, right? I was in a similar biz, so we'd have a lot to talk about.

People like us make good money, right? So at least he would have decent clothes and a decent car.

I could count on that.

We began writing. He sent jokes. They were pretty funny. Then he asked if it was OK to call, and all he did was tell jokes. After two weeks of listening to his non-stop litany of dumb jokes I said "do you realize I haven't known you for two weeks?"

So he started telling me a little about himself. He was an avid rider in Arizona, had a big ranch with horses and even did mounted rescues with the sherrif's posse out there.

It was summer, so I mentioned something about kayaking alone and he said it was dangerous to do anything like that because you can get really hurt doing things where there's no one around to help you. He said that had happened when he was riding one time, and his leg was severely injured. (I believe it was nearly crushed against a tree or something.)

He started talking about his current fitness levels. Said he hadn't been working out since he got to Michigan, wasn't inspired because he had no one to work out with.

He made it sound like he was spending his weekends at his lakefront apartment entertaining chicks in bikinis. I was intimidated.

There was lots of sexual innuendo, but he actually sounded shy and hurt when I said I didn't want to meet him because his suggestive manner made me nervous.

He kept asking me to meet him. He offered to come out by me, but the voices in my head told me to meet him midway.

Finally I agreed to meet. I suggested the Barnes & Noble on M59.

My first warning should have been when he asked what he should wear. It was warm out. He said "I like to wear shorts except for the scars."

I told him I'd be wearing a peach sweater and could be found wandering through the New Age section.

So I'm in Barnes & Noble when my cell phone starts ringing. He's getting lost and calling me every 10 minutes. At one point, I was in the ladies room and started losing my cool as my fifth attempt at getting him east on 59 echoed loudly off the tile walls. This "cop" couldn't find his own ass with both hands.

He was running SO late I decide to check out the store next door. The phone rings while I'm in there. He says he has just pulled up to Barnes and Noble. I say I'll go back and meet him inside.

I'm on the sidewalk about to enter the big glass doors as I witness an aging hulk lumbering slowly towards a blonde woman in an orange sweatshirt. Think "Walk this way" with the leg dragging from Young Frankenstein.

Think Quasimodo looking for his bell ...

I thought to myself "there but for the grace of God ..."

But no. A few minutes after I pass them, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to meet heavily wrinkled bloodshot eyes at my own level.

"Is this sweater peach?? Are you Micki?"

I ALMOST TURNED AND RAN.

I couldn't bring myself to lie and pretend to be someone else. Truth be told, I wasn't able to think that fast or I might have.

This was a very nice older guy who could barely walk. Obviously, his online photo was approximately 20 years old. He hadn't been 6'3" in a few decades either. He was sort of bent.

I could only stand there speechless so long, so I suggested dinner at one of the restaurants within spitting distance of where we stood. Forgetting, of course, that he couldn't really walk. He offered to drive me across the lot and very proudly led me to a vehicle every bit as old as the picture he submitted to the online dating service.

His sun-burnt, souped up Sunbird (?) convertible had a handicapped sticker and time-worn "Arizona Sherrif's Department" bumper sticker.

He graciously helped me with the door, partially because it was coming off the hinges and I wouldn't have been able to close it by myself.

No sooner had I settled into the passenger seat wondering if we'd be able to find a parking spot than he spun the beater around the front corner of the Don Pablo's and popped a very loud wheelie into handicapped.

I am guilty of some pride; I was absolutely mortified.

We chatted over bad Mexican and I tried not to stare at the growth between his eye and his nose. I gave dinner a polite length of time before saying I had to leave. I bravely gave him a kiss on the cheek and said ... "yeah, let's do this again."

Of course it was a lie.

I guess if there's any lesson in all this ... it's ... take everything they say and show with a grain of salt and ALWAYS MEET IN PUBLIC.