So... when I think of the term "mismatched," I think of getting to work and discovering I'm wearing two different shoes. It's a slightly embarrassing situation that should be remedied if I'm to be taken seriously.

The reason I bring it up is that yesterday, I met Suzi for drinks at a club where her friend was singing with a jazz combo. We got to talking about The Keelhauler, as we invariably do, because she knows him, and in fact talks about him a little too enthusiastically for my taste.

She stated her opinion that he and I are "mismatched." I think she actually said, "SO mismatched," going on to say, "When I first met him, and then I met YOU, I was like, WO!"

She was like, "WO." That is apparently how "mismatched" The Keelhauler and I are, according to Suzi, who had already set her foot up near her mouth by declaring how "amazing" The Keelhauler is, and saying that she thinks everyone really enjoys being around him, leaving me to infer that the "mis" in the match is actually just me.

What do you say to someone who tells you how great your boyfriend is, then expresses repeatedly her opinion that you're mismatched? Because here's what I said: Nothing. (Because I'm an idiot!) Apparently realizing that I didn't share her enthusiasm for her assessment, she unconvincingly added, "But it's so cool that you're together!"

It was great, because I got to practice my feigned politeness skills in her presence, then brood about her comment on my own time, at home. (This is just another example of how I use time management to keep my social life exciting!) The brooding continued for several hours, culminating in a conversation at 4 AM with The Keelhauler, who was technically sleeping at the time.

"She said we were 'mismatched,'" I said, just the slightest edge of accusation in my voice, as if he might be actively working to encourage that perception.

"Mismatched?"

"She said it several times."

There was a long pause.

"I think she mis-spoke," he said. "We are very _different_, but we're not mismatched."

The fact that he was reasonable about it mollified me for the moment, allowing me to halt the brooding until three hours later, when I got up to go to work.

I can think of several couples who appear well-suited to one another, or who have more obviously similar goals, or mannerisms, or wardrobes than The Keelhauler and I do, but I can't see myself in their place. I can't think of anyone, even conceptually, whom I would "match." The Keelhauler and I match on a lot of levels, even in trivial ways like our shared affection for sailboat racing, thrift store shopping, and the local Polynesian Dance Revue. True, we are not identical, but without even getting into more meaningful personality traits, there are numerous external elements I can point to that could reasonably lead a casual acquaintance to believe that The Keelhauler and I are compatible. But to Suzi, we do not "match."

I'm obviously missing something here. Or she is. But naturally, because I'm difficult and easily annoyed, and jealous and paranoid, traits I have cultivated in order to make myself seem more interesting, to compensate for a childhood lacking exposure to pop culture or friends, I couldn't help thinking, as she was talking, that the better match she envisioned for The Keelhauler, was herself.

Gratuitously bitchy P.S.: Her friend couldn't sing her way out of a cottage cheese container.

Star of the day. . .Heatmiser