DATING: AL DENTE Chapter 3: Stealth Boy (go to the previous page) Unfortunately he did open the door. And out lumbered the most generic piece of deadbeat I've ever laid eyes on. I was expecting at the most Steve Stevens, at the least Steve Perry -- what did I get? A bloody Love Connection software engineering reject sans pocket protector. To add insult to forshadowed injury, he sidled up to where I was perched and exclaimed, "What a chick magnet, EH? It's better than owning a kitten!" Oh yeah. I was pumped for this one...good thing I had worn only my second-sexiest skirt for the occasion -- 10% spandex content would only have been wasted on this meathead. I escorted him into my favourite down-and-dirty billiards bar for an evening of chit-chat, home brew and snooker, and after we staked out our table and took off our woolies, we got down to business. I set up the balls, we took a few shots, peered at each other through the lamp over the table...and then he piped up, "So, which ones are the red ones?" I was completely flabergasted -- which were the RED ones? Was he fucking BLIND, or was I unknowingly abusing my precious spare time by humouring this dweeb? "Yeah," he continued, "I might have a bit of a hard time tonight 'cause I'm colour-blind." COLOUR-BLIND? And he was playing SNOOKER? Snooker just doesn't work if you can't see the goddamned COLOURS! Go on to the next page.