It was 1993, and my sister was working as a telemarketer when a co-worker asked her out. She was engaged, she told him, "but I have the next best thing -- my identical twin sister."
Upon picking me up for our date, Myron gave me the once-over. "You're fatter than your sister," he said.
Later, we sat down at a Crystal City resaturant. "This place costs too much, so we'll skip dinner and share a dessert," Myron told the waiter. "And she'll have water." As I sat there, dumbstruck, he told me he'd recently returned from rural Virginia. I politely inquired if he had family there. "No, just an ex-girlfriend, that [string of expletives]." I murmured that I was sorry things hadn't worked out. "Just so you know, I didn't kill the guy," Myron said.
Um, what guy would that be? "Her new boyfriend. I was charged with placing a bomb under his car, and he was killed. Not that he didn't deserve it." Myron had been jailed for a month, but the evidence was thin, he said. Then he winked.
After "dinner," we drove to Georgetown, and he showed me the "Exorcist" stairs, announcing, "I always show girls these stairs before we make out." I told him I wanted to go home, and he began cursing uncontrollably. I couldn't get out fast enough when he pulled up to my house. "When would you like to do this again?" he called after me.
Carrie Carnes Kemper, Arlington
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