I still laugh when I think about that night. It was at one of those trendy new restaurants, packed with beautiful people and loud music. I walked in, feeling a little self-conscious in my red summer dress, scanning the tables for the guy I’d been chatting with online for the past two weeks. The lighting was terrible, and I could barely see anyone’s face.

Then I heard it.

“Anya!” A voice called from the corner. I turned, and there he was—Richard. But not the 47-year-old Richard from his dating profile. No, this Richard was at least 70.

Frustration hit me hard, but I walked over. What else could I do? “You look stunning!” he said, grinning like nothing was wrong.

“Oh, do I?” I shot back, sarcastic as ever.

“Please, sit down. I can explain,” he offered, pulling out a chair.

I paused, torn between storming out and staying for the salmon I’d heard was amazing. My stomach won. “You know, I would leave, but I’m starving—and their salmon is divine.”

He smiled, relieved. “So, let me apologize for—”

“Catfishing.”

“Well, not exactly. I used my real photos,” he insisted.

“Yeah, from 20 years ago?” I shot back, pulling up his profile. “How old are you really?”

“Does age matter?” he asked, like that was going to work.

I glared at him, unimpressed. Then the waiter showed up, asking how we were doing. I ignored him and looked at the drink menu.

“Old-fashioned,” Richard ordered.

“Old, for sure,” I muttered.

Richard chuckled. “Vodka martini,” I told the waiter, who left after recommending the catfish. I waved him off. “No thanks, we’ve already had that one.”

Richard sighed. “I’m 72.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But everything we talked about was real,” he insisted. “You wouldn’t have gone out with me if I told you, would you?”

He had a point. “And there’s a reason for that.”

“Just stay for dinner. I’ll give you $2,000 if you don’t like me by the end,” he said.

I shook my head. “Gotta love dating in LA.”

He laughed, and despite everything, I found myself softening. He suggested the filet mignon. “I can’t,” I said.

“You don’t eat meat?”

“No… it gives me diarrhea.”

“Oh honey, but it’s so good! Worth the diarrhea!” he joked, making me laugh despite myself.

It wasn’t the night I expected, but somehow, Richard won a tiny battle.

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