I saw her looking around the restaurant, and figured she must be my date. We'd spoken on the phone, and when I told her I was Evil Editor she almost swooned. I waved to her and she came over to the table. "Hi," I said. "You must be Anon."
"Yes," she replied, "but who are you? I was expecting Evil Editor."
"That's me. In the flesh."
"But . . . you look more like a combination of George Clooney and Brad Pitt, except taller and darker and more handsome. Where's the pince-nez? Where's the beer gut? Where are my muttonchops?!!!
"Ah, you're thinking of the cartoon char--"
"No, no, this won't do. Can you put on some false muttonchops?"
"I don't have--"
"It's all wrong. Sorry, this was a mistake." She headed for the door and never looked back.