When I was 21, I met Sam, this super cute guy at Chi-Chi's, the cheap Mexican food chain where my identical twin best friends and I hovered chips and salsa while nursing cheap margaritas at happy hour. When expressed interest in me, Laura, who worked with him, gave him my phone number and told him where I lived.
A few days later we were lounging in the twins' bedroom, wondering why Sam hadn't asked me out yet. Laura decided to call and ask what he was waiting for.
"I did ask her out. She said no!”
Laura covered the phone and relayed the message.
“What? No he didn't. When?"
He responded that he'd come by my house the day before and asked me out. I'd said no. He seemed like such a nice, genuine guy. To lie seemed...puzzling.
That night at dinner my sister told me the oddest story.
“I was at home when some guy came to the door. He asked me on a date. I had no idea who he was so I told him no.”
Sam had asked out the wrong girl. Now, my sister and I looked nothing alike. I had long blonde hair, my sister had shorter, curly dark brown hair and is several inches taller.
The next time Laura saw him at work she told Sam of his mistake as his friends stood by.
His friends chided him. "You idiot. You asked the wrong girl out."
I eventually went on one half-hearted date with him before ignorng his phone calls. Did I really want to date a guy who didn't remember what I looked like?