Who's the Actual Heartbreaker?

Very recently, I was approached by a very attractive girl. Let's call her Mae. Mae walked up to me, smiled, and proceeded to hand me a small slip of paper onto which her name and phone number had been seemingly hastily jotted. I was flattered. I mean, I'm not the most unattractive schmo in town, but this definitely isn't something that happens everyday. I'm certain that a typical bro would have gone after this girl without hesitation; long legs resulting in an almost intimidating height, flowing dark hair that would undoubtedly feel perfect running through your fingers, and a pair of lips that you just know were made for long, slow kisses. Even thinking about her now, as I picture her in my mind, I'm wondering how my libido let me pass up this opportunity. Oh yeah, I remember; food!

After the initial phone number exchange, the first form of communication Mae and I participated in was via text message. During these silent conversations, the normal get-to-know-you chatter took place. The charm of scattered 'LOLs' and parenthetical smiley-faces would soon be drowned out by something she'd say during our first face-to-face conversation.

I remember it like it was yesterday (probably because it was yesterday;) the discussion began with each of us asking about the other's day and how it had been going so far. After several minutes of forgettable Q&A and a few subtle glances at her body, I quickly became alert when the topic of conversation turned to eats. She'd asked me which type of food I liked to eat the most and this just so happened to be a question to which I have a customary answer:

Me:     "I always say my second favorite food is hotdogs."
Asker: "Oh. What's your first favorite?"
Me:    "Well, I can't think of anything I dislike, so I guess my favorite is whatever I'm eating at the time."

Her response to my answer was putrid. With an innocent grin and total lack of shame, she uttered, "I'm probably one of the pickiest eaters you will ever meet." Now, I didn't want to seem rude or neglect whatever positive reputation I'd established for myself in her mind so, as much as it hurt, I playfully laughed along. Kicking my people skills into high gear, I tactfully came up with an excuse to end the conversation and went about my business. After learning this about her, I knew that the future had nothing in store for Mae and I, in terms of any sort of intimate relationship.

I received a text message from Mae later that night. She'd asked me about my plans for Halloween and I assumed she was preparing to invite me to join in on that which she'd be doing. At that point, I decided not to let whatever this was drag on any further. I decided to cease communication.


Compatibility = a must = food/music interests = compatibility.
(an opportunity to discuss music interests never presented itself)