Once upon a time, in a land known as the Upper West Side, I embarked on a match date adventure. Let's call him Dan—or as he jokingly referred to himself, "The One with the Plan!" Our rendezvous took place at a jazz club, because nothing says "romantic chemistry" like trying to shout over blaring saxophones. From the moment we met, I realized Dan had a peculiar passion: taxidermy. Yes, he was fascinated by the art of preserving dead animals—and he had pictures. Lots of pictures. In fact, he had so many pictures, he suggested we leave the jazz club to see his "collection" back at his apartment. Not the most comforting first date invitation, right? However, curiosity—as it always does—got the better of me, and I asked him what kinds of animals he had. He sparkled with excitement, as if Christmas had come early, and declared, "Oh, the usual—squirrels, a raccoon, and my pièce de résistance, a magnificent badger named Nigel." Needless to say, we did not relocate to his apartment. Instead, I suggested a nearby diner for a slice of pie, which at least would be less stuffed than his creatures. As we sat in the booth under the harsh fluorescent lights, I couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with taxidermy—this date, too, seemed frozen in an awkward moment forever. Dan and I parted amicably