There is a sect of men who in Donald Trump-fashion who will monopolized the first date conversation with exaggerated tales of their success and accomplishments. The third grade spelling bee they won. The 18-pound salmon they caught with their bare hands. The marathon they ran barefooted. It’s not a date inasmuch as a resume-enhancing infomercial.
No sense getting mad. Think of it as community service. Like reading to the blind or feeding the homeless. Then sit back, put on your Jackie O fake smile and order up. They’ll eventually put their foot in their mouth.