Gone Fishing. Catfishing, that is.

Everyone has undoubtedly heard the age old phrase “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”. If that’s true then you can call me Stevie Wonder. Sorry Gandhi, but I’m going to have to side with Muhammad Ali on this one, “you kill my dog, you better hide your cat”. As it turns out, revenge is a dish best served with margaritas and a side of catfish.

A Saturday night where plans had fallen through last minute left me solo and swiping on Tinder (for longer than I’m willing to admit in writing). Immediately after matching with a potential suitor, I received an excited message from my new hopeful. I figured if nothing else I’d found someone to talk to and possibly distract me from my uneventful, bordering pathetic excuse for a weekend. His eagerness extended past flirtatious exchanging of messages because he insisted that we meet up. Generally the people I’ve matched with in the past insist on chatting forever. In my experience it seemed like most were looking to be pen pals and not the penis pal I was looking for. Having already dolled myself up in anticipation of going out, I surprised us both when I agreed to his “Netflix and Chill” proposal. After all, no girl willingly wastes a 2 hour hair and makeup session. If I’m putting in that kind of work caking on enough makeup to kill a Kardashian, somebody better gaze upon my manufactured beauty. I don’t care if it’s the homeless guy sleeping in the alley next to my apartment, I am going to be seen goddammit.

Skipping a few arguably crucial steps in my vetting process for dating app candidates, I fully expected a series of awkward and uncomfortable moments to follow. Factoring how available he was with such little notice, I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to find when I answered my door. I can tell you that in all the wild scenarios I concocted in my head, meeting the leader of the lollipop guild was not one of them. Being rolled up in a carpet and featured on an episode of Criminal Minds, sure. Welcoming the mayor of munchkin land into my home, not so much. But there we were. Historically speaking I usually find myself dating guys that are on the shorter side. Consequently, I’m no stranger to the raging Napoleon complex that often accompanies men of smaller stature. But even Bonaparte was a tolerable 5’6”, this dude was pushing 5’2” max. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t quite “measure up” to my standards, I invited him in. Seeming like a genuinely nice guy, we connected right away and had undeniable chemistry. It was one of those rare occasions that agreeing to spontaneous plans made for an unforgettable night.

Fast forward to about a month later. Navigating our way through the “talking phase” customary amongst millenials, we spent most of our free time together. Our schedules weren’t super compatible, but we made it work. He had brought up the topic of becoming “official” a few times but I was hesitant. I’m the type that likes to be sure before I commit to anything, and something seemed off. Doubting myself, it was hard to be sure if this nagging feeling was women’s intuition or paranoia, having been burnt so many times in the past. He had a good job, was a loving father, had many shared interests, was covered in tattoos and was big into fitness like I am. My skepticism appeared to be unwarranted as he seemed to have everything I hoped to find in a boyfriend.

I realized my reservations stemmed from the fact that since our initial impulse “date” he had been unavailable to hang out on the weekend. We both had them off for the most part, yet all attempts to make plans were always thwarted by him. Not one to be the clingy or jealous type, I didn’t pay mind to the first few times he told me that he was busy. He explained that he was going out with the guys to grab a couple drinks and watch the game. Admittedly not interested in sports, I had no idea what game he was even referring to. Appreciating my own space and “me time”, the healthy boundaries were a welcomed change from the overbearing neediness I’m accustomed to. That is until this was the trend for every weekend for almost two months.

It was particularly annoying because I was the one sacrificing sleep and putting in the effort so that we could see each other during the week. Anyone who knows me knows that I love sleep, so that was a big deal. He pressed me to agree to be his “girlfriend” constantly, yet I couldn’t manage to book him for a Friday night rendezvous. Something had to give. Gently pointing out the fact that he frequented the bar a considerable amount, he brushed off my concerns saying that’s just how he unwinds. Conceding to the notion that “if you can’t beat em’ join em’”, I offered to tag along one night. Confusion was quickly replaced with suspicion as my suggestion was met with strong opposition. This only worsened as he quickly rambled off a bunch of excuses why I couldn’t go ending in a very defensive proclamation “it’s not like I’m going to the bar to meet girls”. Since I had made no such accusation, nor did I even insinuate that was the case, his response seemed to speak more to his guilt and less to him clarifying. Unable to shake this gut feeling, I felt like I was being gaslighted every time I asked to hang out. If we were to have any type of future together I needed to get some answers.

Not wanting to doubt someone I was growing close to or myself anymore, I decided to give him a little test. Using a spoofed number I texted him pretending to be some nameless girl he met at the bar. I fully expected him to reply saying I had the wrong number or something, putting my suspicions to rest. Imagine my surprise when he immediately responded “Marisa?”. So much for not going out to meet girls. Coyly I replied, “no I guess you must meet a lot of girls at the bar, and here I thought I was special”. Claiming he was struggling to remember this mystery girl, he added that he had been really drunk and bragged about barely remembering his drive home. So much for not drinking and driving (like I feared and he reassured me he didn’t). Sending him pictures of a random model off the Internet, his memory is magically jogged. Not only does he suddenly remember how we met, but goes as far as to say he could never forget someone as beautiful as me. Funny that he has such an immaculate recollection of events that I made up. Normally at this point I’d cut my losses and run. But there’s just something about a guy I lowered my standards for trying to play me that really gets my revenge juices flowing. Refusing to be punked by a dude that was shorter than me, it was time to go fishing. Catfishing that is.

Thanking his lucky stars, he practically begged to take me, or should I say “Jessica”, out to dinner. As it turns out, Jessica loves Mexican. Who knew? Unrelated, there happens to be a Mexican restaurant 400 feet from my apartment. I’m thinking there’s no way in hell he has the gall to agree to take some random girl out on a dinner date that’s only two doors down from my place. Turns out he does. What he lacks in height he more than compensates for in audacity. Initially the plan was that Jessica would stand him up and both of us would ghost him. But since he was still texting me asking when we were to hang out again, I got creative. I asked him what he was doing on the night I knew he agreed to take Jess out. He nervously replied, “I don’t know why?” Casually I say “oh I was thinking about grabbing a couple drinks by my place and figured I’d see if you wanted to join”. Declining my invitation, he blames training late at his MMA gym but tells me to have fun. The trap was set.

Recruiting my most attractive guy friend to the cause, I got ready for my night out. Looking like a complete smoke show, I suddenly had a hankering for margaritas and I knew just the place to get them. Wearing my treacherous boo’s favorite color, my alter ego Petty Labelle was out in full swing. Walking over to the restaurant a little before the hobbit was supposed to arrive, my “date” and I settled in at a table with the best vantage point. Sitting with my back to the entrance, I feign ignorance when he finally pulls up. Scanning the dining area for Jessica, I pretend not to notice him but he definitely notices me. Turning as white as a ghost, he turns around and bolts out the door. Unwilling to abandon his dream date even after nearly being “caught up”, I am flabbergasted when Jessica receives a text saying that “the place is packed” as he offers to go somewhere else.

By this point everyone at the surrounding tables are in on the charade and are not only invested in this thing, but are actively cheering me on. Agreeing that Jessica should send him on a wild goose chase, we convince this idiot that there was a mixup. She explains that she totally thought they were meeting up at the restaurant’s other location that’s closer to her house, adding she’s been waiting for him for a half hour. He begs her not to leave promising that he’s on the way. He peels out nearly clipping another car in his haste. Enjoy that 30 minute drive asshole. Meanwhile in the real world, the flamboyant, sassy gay couple sitting right next to us have crowned me their queen. The bartender who has overheard the whole thing brings everyone a round of drinks. In that moment we are unified by one man’s douchebaggery. Sharing a good laugh, I figure that would be the end of it. I underestimated how much of a shit bag this guy truly is.

Once the jig is up and he realizes he’s been had, he comes crawling back to me like I’m some back burner bitch. He claims he got out of training early and was seeing what I was doing. Remaining in character, I tell him I’m out with a friend that’s in town for a couple weeks, reminding him that I had told him this the other day. I can hear his jealousy through the phone. He can’t help himself and accusingly admits he saw me. Once again feigning ignorance, I ask innocently, “saw me where? Why didn’t you say hi you snob?” He replies “it’s a long story I’ll tell you later”. I highly doubt that, but I play along. Asking if I want to “link up” later because he “misses me”, I tell him that he’s welcome to come by whenever, but warn him that my friend and I would be hanging out all night. Knowing he’s not going to “get any” with my company here, he declines the invitation. Shocker. What are the chances that he actually “went to bed early” because “he was tired from training” like he claimed and didn’t move onto the next unfortunate soul? I’d say about the same odds as a supermodel actually going on a date with him. Next time I waste my time playing games with something that small it’ll be when I drag my Polly Pocket down from the attic. ✌️