Dating Story #2 a/k/a...

Are You Wearing French Cuffs or the White Hood?

I'm on a dinner date with O, a guy I met at a dating event held at the Gay and Lesbian Center. O is beyond gorgeous. He is someone the word gorgeous would have been created for since no other word would describe just how gorgeous this gorgeous man is. Have I said gorgeous enough? Trust me, no matter how many times it's repeated, it doesn't do him justice.

And if the face wasn't enough, when he smiles, the entire room lights up. Really, it does. He flashes these perfect white teeth and you feel like you're in the middle of Times Square with the neon all ablaze. Your mood is suddenly lighter than it's been in years and all you want to do is kiss puppies, paint rainbows and ask everyone to join you in a dance.

When I finally manage to elbow my way through the crowd that's surged towards him at the Center event, I make a comment about his smile, which opens the door to where I am now: in this restaurant with O, about one week later. And, beyond my expectations, it is becoming one of THOSE first dates. The conversation, helped somewhat by a little wine, is flowing without effort. There are no awkward pauses. I'm feeling relaxed and enjoying myself to the point that I'm not focusing on how our waitress is paying far more attention to O than she is to anyone else.

About three quarters of the way through, and after his second glass of wine, O says "My dog recently vanished." There's no way to know this yet, but the entire night is about to take one huge nosedive. O regales me with the story of his dog, who got off her leash one day and ran away. O looked everywhere, but the dog was nowhere to be found. He asked everyone he met if they had seen her, but no one had. Eventually, he posted flyers with her picture and description, and that's when he got the call. Someone had found her and they'd be happy to bring her back...for $500.

O says "I wasn't about to give $500 to a dognapper." Um, did he just say dognapper? Outside of Saturday morning cartoons and Disney films, I don't think I've ever heard anyone utter that word before.

I am flabbergasted at this tale. The borough of Manhattan is housing a modern day Cruella DeVille and she's grabbing innocent puppies who belong to very attractive people and holding them for ransom. I can see this woman cruising the streets with her henchmen, hungrily circling dog parks across the city, waiting for her chance to swoop in cackling "Got another one!". And poor Fifi, this innocent poodle, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Can you picture it? Fifi is strapped down in some dirty, dank basement, duct tape wrapped around her snout to keep her from calling for help. Her four legs are tied down to some cheap dog bed. Not the good, expensive couch-shaped dog beds that you find in Upper East Side pet stores and occasionally in the LL Bean catalogue, but a flimsy, badly made dog bed that stinks of all the other canine hostages that have been forced to come here over the years.

Fifi's probably making all kinds of promises in her duct-taped head. If only the Great Dane in heaven will help her out of this mess, she swears she'll be a good dog. She won't chase the Goldsteins' cat anymore. She'll stop peeing in her secret spot, the back of the closet of the spare bedroom. She just wants to go home, away from Cruella and back to her comfy life, wrapped in O's beautiful arms with her favorite pink bow neatly tucked in her hair. She'll even learn that roll-over trick O has been trying to teach her.

OK, now before you think I'm cruel for making fun of the seriousness of this dog-napping tale, the truth is I was feeling quite badly for O. It's a terrible thing to lose your dog. And while this story seemed a tad preposterous, I couldn't imagine someone calling to shake you down for money this way. But before I could feel too badly for him, a look of disgust came over his face and he spat out two words: "Black people." Mr. Beautiful suddenly became very, very ugly.

I'm not going to repeat the horrible comments that he said next. I will say dinner that night became a reminder of an old saying we have all heard many times. Because while the cover of this book was dazzling, what was lying inside was offensive. I called for the check, threw my money on the table and headed out.

As I was going home, I thought about Fifi again and wondered if we had something in common. Maybe she had taken a look around on the day she ran off and noticed that while it all looked very pretty, there was a whole lot of ugly going on. And maybe, like me, she simply decided "I'm outta here."

I hope she's found that comfy couch-shaped bed somewhere.