EAT MY SUSHI: The Singles Event Saturday June 18th


I receive emails all the time by gun-shy Casanovas who are unwilling to play footsies under the table unless there are enough damsels’ feet to play with. They’re statisticians, enjoy working the ratios. Generally, they prefer two to three female feet to each one of theirs. If they were not very good at math during school, they’re pretty good with numbers at a singles sushi-making class. And once they are satisfied with the odds, they pull out their Visa cards. If- and this happens more often than you can shake a chopstick at- I tell them that they waited too long, that all the seats are accounted for, that there is no more room, bribery is the next card they pull out.

“C’mon, we can work this out.”

“No. It’s too late.”

“Just give me a chance.”

“Sorry, you should have thought about it sooner.”

And, as it turns out, the more adamant I am about not giving in, the more fierce is their- how shall I say it?- ardor. Can it really be true of men (even when they are dealing with a heterosexual sushi instructor dude like me?): that every “no” is really a “yes” in disguise? That every “no” is really feigned protest, an obvious attempt at seduction? There is narcissism at work here, the kind that has the guy genuinely thinking “wait, this is NOT happening to me! This is me- The Dude.” They’re not getting the rose. So when they find themselves in a Bachelorette  episode, they’re pretty certain that the show is really about them. The roses are meant for them- all of the roses. The truth is really less cynical than accusations of narcissism: there is a genuine fear of not getting lucky. They put up (in this case, $50 for a dinner) and didn’t even land a coffee date. It’s a fear we all live with: “will I be liked?”; “will I be picked last on the losing team?”; “will she choose the uninteresting, but (only just) better looking guy over me?”.

The boys in my singles sushi-making classes are cool, interesting, pretty serious about finding The Right One. Most of them have been around the corner of the singles bar enough times to make most of us dizzy. They just don’t like playing footsies under the table unless the odds are in their favor.

Dudes, you better move quickly for the next event.  There are some beautiful feet under that table. And who knows, you might just find yourself in the right pair of shoes this time.

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