Last night was the sixth anniversary of my first -- and only, I add for emphasis -- blind date.

After I arrived late -- which is always a great way to make a first impression -- we headed off towards the restaurant and into the yawning void that had instantly sprung up between us. The chill in the air came in handy because it was a hot August night and neither my air conditioning nor window handles worked.

Panicking, I unleashed the pre-planned joke I had brought with me. Don't place too much significance on the fact that I carried around an emergency joke, because, man, does it make me look like a weenie.

"I'm very self-deprecating," I said, "but I'm not very good at it."

She looked out the passenger window, at the rows of apartments sliding by. I figured that since she wasn't slapping her knee and laughing uproariously, she hadn't heard me. So I said it again.

"I'm very self-deprecating, but I'm not very good at it," I said. And then added helpfully, "Ha ha!"

She turned to look at me -- she was a lawyer, so she was very good at turning to look at people -- and said, "I heard you the first time."

Then her voice dropped a degree or two and she added, "I hate that."

Ah. Yes. Of course.

Please allow me to kill myself now.

But, ultimately, I had my revenge. I showed her. I married her and fathered her children. Ha! Take that!