"So where do you live?," I asked of the woman whose number was given to me by my friend, "Shmegs" - an unfortunate nickname bestowed upon him well before I met him in college.
Shmegs is the type of guy who can set you up with a whacko or someone really cool, which makes sense given that Shmegs himself is both a whacko and really cool at the same time. Regardless of the mental stability levels of the women he's hooked me up with, they've all had one thing in common: they were all knockouts. I don't know how a guy who gets introduced at social gatherings as "Shmegs Bernstein" has access to these women, but he does. And when he offers me a number, I take it...superficial bastard that I am.
"I don't really LIVE anywhere," she responded.
"What do you mean?," I asked.
"I kind of stay with people. Like now I'm staying with a friend on the Lower East Side," she said matter of factly.
"I guess you could say I'm homeless," she said, giggling.
"Really? You have your own shopping cart, and everything?," I said, knowing that this one wasn't gonna happen.
"No. I'm really just in between places right now," she responded. "It's been impossible to find a place that's reasonably priced."
"How long have you been looking?," I asked.
The conversation ended with me telling her I'd "be in touch" - not with her necessarily, but I had to say something.
I'm not that demanding when it comes to what I'm looking for in women I'd like to date, but possessing permanent shelter is a must.
I told Shmegs the story, and he emailed me her picture so I could see what I was missing. She was hot. But I kept envisioning her with dirty, scraggly hair, and those fingerless gloves that are all the rage amongst the homeless set sleeping on my sofa for the next 6-8 months.