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This is the third installment the series "How To Find A Date Without A Shoe Fetish." If this is your first foray into this hub, you may wish to start with the original title.  

"So- there's something we've been meaning to tell you," my friend Jody dropped casually. She had just uncorked another bottle and was filling our glasses with more of the exquisite Pinot Noir we had been sipping for a better part of the evening, and I was feeling good. Too good to suspect any subterfuge. Until I looked up and saw it. That look. The one that hinted that that she was up to no good- the one that made me slightly queasy. I knew it all too well. Trouble was in the air. I quickly glanced over at Ilene, who was sporting her best poker face, the one she had taken to an art form, generally reserved only for the toughest boardroom meetings, but while she nonchalantly took a bite out of another cracker with Brie, my antennae were doing the Merengue, the soundtrack in my head reverberating "dah nah, dah nah" to the rhythm of Jaws. Something was definitely up.
“What?” I asked, curious but wary. We were seated poolside at Jody’s hillside home on a fabulous southern California night, all the rough edges lubricated away by an unsavory amount of alcohol, when Ilene unceremoniously reached down and pulled out her laptop. She set it on the cedar table in front of us.
“OK, so don’t be mad,” Jody prefaced carefully. The panic slowly crept in. “About what?” I urged.
“Well -”
“We created a profile for you,” Ilene interjected abruptly like she was pulling off a band-aid. There was a pause as I squinted momentarily with confusion. They were both looking at me like Wiley Coyote seeking cover after he had just pressed down on the detonator and was waiting for the dynamite to go off, only the event had failed to occur.
“A profile?” I questioned, shaking my head slowly with incomprehension. What were they talking about? And what was I supposed to be mad about?
“On Counterparts,” Ilene added, both of them cringing once more as they waited with apprehension. I looked at Jody and she briefly nodded at me, hesitantly, as if prompting the inevitable response.
“You-did-WHAT?” I suddenly bellowed, hit by the full force of what they had just revealed. “Shit SHIT!” I was up on my feet now, pacing in horror, suddenly squealing and shaking my wrists with dreadfulness like I had just been slimed by a creepy-crawler.
"No, this is a good thing," Jody tried. "Really. Then turning to Ilene, "She cussed. She cussed. She never cusses."
"I know ," Ilene responded in wonderment.
“Well this seems like a darn good occasion to start!” I bellowed once more. “What were you thinking?”
“You‘re going to thank us once you get over the initial shock,” Ilene quickly recovered and perked up with authority.
“She will, won’t she? ” Jody agreed as they nodded at one another in unison.
I was staring at them dumbfounded. It had finally happened. It was true. The world had truly gone mad. The apocalypse had arrived.
“Wait until you see it,” Ilene declared proudly, now eagerly opening the laptop. “We did a great job. It’s magazine worthy. We didn’t even have to Photoshop it.”
“Totally fabulous,” Jody agreed.  

My jaw was still hanging open. They had posted my picture... On the Internet. This was it. I now had a profile. I was now officially 'posted.’ On a bulletin board, hunting for dates! Lure! That’s what I was. Mutton, bait, meat - subject matter for leering, lascivious eyes - number 44092 - my mug all over cyberspace. A criminal record was now more appealing.
“Oh God,” I moaned painfully, sinking back to the chaise in dismay. “Why didn’t you just write my name and number on the bathroom wall? It would have been more discreet.”
“Don’t you even wanna know what you said?” Ilene prompted excitedly, completely unfazed by my cataclysmic take.
“Just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery,” I murmured in a daze.
“Oh, you‘re gonna love it,” it was Jody’s turn to spew enthusiasm. “You‘re gonna be the hottest thing since sliced bread. You should see how many responses you already have.”
“Why do people always say that?” my words drifted out in a stupor - “I don’t want to be bread...” I suddenly stopped, her last words penetrating my daze. “Responses? SHIT!”
“She’s doing it again,” Jody said.
“I know,” Ilene shook her head in amazement.
“Well maybe you should add that to my profile! Curses like a drunken sailor! And 'responses?’ What responses? How long exactly have I been out there?” They looked at one another, considering the matter.
“What is it, four days or so?” Jody offered.
“Yeah, that sounds that’s about right,” Ilene agreed.  I was officially homicidal. {Look for the next chapter ‘How To Find A Date Without a Shoe-Fetish Part 4 - Berry Sensitive‘)

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