“You will have great fortune in love.” I read the fortune cookie’s painfully ironic message again for the eighth time while Jon continued prattling on. I think he was still going about his job, some self-inflated middle management position downtown. It had taken most of the pre-dinner cocktails and half of the entree course before he’d even thought to ask me what I did for a living. “Oh, I’m a Director of First Impressions,” I’d replied airily. “It’s at a small firm, really. Lots of multi-tasking.”

“That sounds fantastic,” he’d cooed, looking impressed with my made-up title. I vowed for the ninth time I was never going to let myself be set up on a blind date again. “You must be very busy.” I had agreed, keeping a bland smile fixed firmly in place.

I wondered if he’d ever noticed the receptionist where he worked, had ever made eye contact with more than her C-cups as she worked the switchboard. I doubted he even knew her name. It was unlikely he recalled mine. Director of First Impressions, indeed.