Jack was seldom given to blind dates, however as of late he had little room to decline any romantic invitation. His busy life had provided him little time to pursue romance in any form. Between late nights behind a computer screen and long days in front of a television set, his so called life had accumulated all the depth of My So Called Life. So, he conceded to trade one evening of joysticks for an evening of lipstick, so to speak. A comb was so foreign to his hair by this time that it had quite a hard time finding its way across his head. Finally when the last hair had given up its rebellion, he looked himself over and was quite impressed. He arrived punctually, and again was quite impressed with himself. He might have described his date as looking like a million bucks, but that would have sold her a few dollars short. They said their awkwardly cordial hellos and then were off to dinner, or a movie, or whatever he would decide to fake being planned. He asked if she was hungry, and dinner it became. Conversation had found its way in more quickly than expected, and soon the date was going rather well, and he was again quite impressed with himself. Quite impressed was he until he made the great granddaddy of faux pas, by assuming he could let a little nervous gas out. The windows were down, so no smell could escape, and the sound would be drowned out by the rushing of wind into the car. Now, all of matter breaks down into three basic phases: Solid, liquid, and gas. His faux pas could have passed unnoticed, had it exited in the third phase, but his body obeyed Murphy's law, in that what can go wrong, would go wrong, and it left in the first phase; solid. It was not enough to spell disaster just yet, and Jack was resourceful. Since nothing had been planned beforehand, reservations were flexible, thus he easily excused a short detour to the mall by providing his date with a later reservation for dinner. To her, it seemed an interesting way to kill time. He rushed her to a store where he could purchase new pants, and then used the same excuse to leave as he had to come; reservations. Things were looking hopeful as they arrived at the restaurant, and he was proud of his soon-to-be recovery. He excused himself, grabbed the shopping bag and sped off to the restroom. Somewhat disgusted with himself, and somewhat impressed, Jack dashed into an empty stall and removed the soiled trousers . . .wowzers! Not desiring for anyone else to learn of his shame, he threw it out the window, still warm in the pants. The shopping bag was opened slightly before his jaw. He couldn't find the pants, nor the words to say. In his rush he had mistaken his bag containing pants, for hers containing a cute sweater, at sale price no less. There comes a point at which any man must admit defeat to the gods of love, or shame, or untimely defecation, and this time had come for Jack all too aggressively this evening. He put his legs through the arms of the sweater, set his chin up high, and slowly walked out of the restaurant, never to speak to his date again.