When last night's date called me Irv for the second time, I decided not to correct her. I wasn't quite sure I heard her right the first time she called me Irv, or maybe it was Herb, so I let it go. But when she asked, "So what's your favorite quote, Irv," I completely lost interest in her, the date, and the fact that she thought I shared a name with a large percentage of the male population of Boca Raton. The fact that she didn't know my name didn't bother me, though I found it odd given that we emailed each other at least three times before the date, and she had to have seen my name written next to the word "From" in her inbox. What made me lose interest was the way she asked me questions like she was reading them off index cards during an interview for a job I didn't want.
"So what makes you laugh?" she asked, as the interview began.
"The way my grandmother says yoo-reen when she's trying to say urine," I responded.
"Uh huh," she said, barely paying attention to my answer.
"What songs are on your Ipod?"
"Don't have one."
"O-o-okay," she said condescendingly. "Where'd you spend your last vacation?"
"On my sofa."
"Mmm hmm...So what's your favorite quote, Irv," she continued, not missing a beat.
If I were a Shakespearean scholar, or gave a shit for that matter, I might have said, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But the truth is, I had to look the quote up online to get it right, and she wouldn't have gotten the irony anyway since she actually thought my name was Irv - a fact she demonstrated yet again when we left the bar together ten minutes later and she said, "Nice meeting you, Irv. Take care."