Nearly two weeks after he said he couldn't find love because women were intimidated by his hotness, Robert finally scored last night.
It was a blind date, arranged by the Vancouver radio station that stepped in to help Robert with his affliction. Sherry, a 36-year-old stunner, was chosen to be Rob’s escort for the night (and by "escort" I don’t mean "hooker").
Like Robert, Sherry also bears the heavy burden of being really, really, really ridiculously good looking. But that’s not all they have in common. For example, they were excited to discover they both enjoy good restaurants. (Does this mean they’ve actually met people who enjoy bad restaurants?)
A reporter from the radio station tagged along and interviewed Robert and Sherry at various points during the evening. Those of us who tuned in to the radio this morning were treated to audio clips of the date.
Three drinks into the night, Robert had had just enough alcohol to impair his judgement: "She’s stunning."
Five drinks into the night, Sherry started to see a new side of Robert: "He’s definitely not as arrogant as he appears."
Switching from wine to tequila shooters, Sherry’s vision started blurring: "He looks a lot better in person."
("Um, Sherry," the reporter said, covering the mike with one hand. "That’s the bartender. Robert’s down there, lying on the floor.")
A bottle of beer in one hand and a rum and Coke in the other, Robert was writhing on the floor and yelling at the top of his lungs: "If my nickname is Hot Guy, her nickname needs to be Dynamica!"
Okay, so that’s not exactly how the date went down. The quotes were real but I took some creative liberty with the context in which they were said. I had to. The date was downright boring.
Robert and Sherry were smitten with each other. By the end of the night, phone numbers were exchanged and plans for a second date were in the works. It was a match made in botox heaven.
Who knew something that started off so shallow would have such a happy ending?