Scott McPherson looked carefully into the mirror. Only in his grey socks and polka-dot boxers, he noticed his scrawny bone structure: abnormal size ears, bushy eyebrows, dandruff hair, his right arm longer than the left, his left leg longer than the right, and the numerous pimples that ran across the bridge of his large, bumpy nose. He sighed, trying to hold his tears. Trying to hold his embarrassment, he slowly changed into his clothes.

Sitting on the couch in front of the television, Scott wiped his sweaty forehead with a tissue – terrified Allie Johnson, his date, would notice his oily skin. It wasn’t until the door bell rang when he noticed that his skin turned red due to the excessive rubbing. He dropped the daisies he bought for Allie, and ran to his closet. Tossing objects around, he anxiously looked for something to cover his red face.

Allie rang the doorbell for the second time, starting to lose her patience. Leaning on one hip, she looked around Scott’s neighbourhood – or rather, his area, since Scott’s home is completely isolated from other houses. Moving her index finger towards the door bell for the third time, the front door finally opened. Scott was wearing a Yankees baseball hat, large sunglasses, and a yellow scarf that was wrapped around his neck and mouth – his large nose was his only feature that was visible. Allie looked blankly at Scott, unsure if he was aware that it was 90°F outside. Finally, she whispered, “I figured we can go to The Golden Corral for dinner.” She took a deep breath, “But if you don’t want to –“

Scott stuck his right arm out, holding the daisies. “I got you flowers,” he muffled through his yellow scarf. “And The Golden Corral sounds great.”

She slowly took the daisies and tilted her head, smiling. “Alright. Let’s go then.”

Allie tightly grasped the steering wheel, becoming agitated of the silence in the car. She was unsure of what to say to Scott, not only was his outfit appalling, but she couldn’t believe that he tucked his head down every time he saw someone walking by. Seven minutes into the drive, she finally broke the silence, “So, you like the Yankees?”

Scott looked at her, surprised she was trying to make conversation. “No. Not really. I don’t watch baseball.”

She raised her eyebrow and asked, “Then why are you wearing a Yankees baseball hat?”

Scott felt his body stiffen. For some reason, it felt like Allie was challenging him. He felt his face turn red. “I’m wearing a Yankee’s baseball hat because –” He tucked his head down when he saw a mother with her son walking by. Raising his head, he continued, “because I have a feeling that I’m going to go bald within the next fifteen years. So, when I become bald, I wouldn’t have to worry about wearing a hat because I’ll be used to it by then.”

“Interesting,” said Allie, as she parked the car in front of the restaurant.

Scott picked a small table furthest from the windows. They sat quietly in front of each other until the waiter approached their table and took their orders. Allie appeared in a sepia tone through Scott’s sunglasses. He became jealous of her small button nose, white pearl teeth, and fierce brown eyes. He wondered how someone could look so perfect. “Allie, I was wondering if you –“

“Take your hat off,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“And your yellow scarf and sunglasses too. Do you realize that it’s over ninety degrees outside? That you’re in a restaurant dressed like you’re trying to hide from someone? That you’re dressed like this on our first date? Are you that embarrassed of me?” Allie exhaled. She slowly took a sip of her red wine, looking away from him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Scott slowly removing his hat, and then followed by his scarf. Allie placed her wine glass in front of her, “Your sunglasses too.” Scott did what he was told. Never in his life had he felt so self-conscious. He was tempted to steal a menu from the waiter to hide behind, or simply leave the restaurant. He knew that Allie and others would notice his large nose, dandruff hair, and his oily skin covered with pimples. He felt like crying, wishing to be just as good looking as Allie, or the waiter, or even the man sitting two tables across from them. He rubbed his face with his hands; he wanted to disappear without hurting Allie’s feelings. Suddenly, Allie gently took one of Scott’s hands. She held it, smiling at Scott. “It’s nice to see your face.”