Now, I admit, a backpack is not the most stylish and debonair item to bring on a romantic evening. Previous girlfriends have mentioned it, and Alexis and Jennifer made it clear with their expressions that they were not impressed. Fair enough. I'll take that one on the chin. But what came next was really pushing it. With the entire room on her side, Bette readied for the big blows. "So obviously, I knew I was on a date with a guy who need some work."

"Ha ha," said the audience, nodding knowingly at my hopeless unsophistication. "And boy, was I right, when at ten p.m. on the dot he took out a pillbox and swallowed his medication!" Bette looked around for shock and awe, but this time, not everyone in the room responded to her command.

Aiming to smooth things over, Alexis said, "Well, I carry those for vitamins and stuff. You must have just been taking vitamins, right?"

"Uh... no, not really," I said. "I have things I take medication for..."

Bette jumped in. "But what are you even taking pills for?"

Let me just say, for the record, that the way to convince an audience that you are darling and wonderful, and that the man who took you on a date is a total goofball, is not to demand on national television the complete list of maladies for which he takes prescription medication. I know this, because when I responded, "Really, you want me to go through everything that's wrong with me here in front of the cameras?" one of the hosts said, "Let's move on." I then knew that it wasn't going to be necessary to say what I was really thinking, which was, of course, "I take pills because of people like you."And in all likelihood, it's probably best that went unsaid.

Perhaps sensing that the mood in the studio had changed, Bette pulled her trump card. "And the weirdest thing of all..." she began. The hosts leaned in, the audience leaned in — hell, even I leaned in at this point — "...was that he didn't have anything to drink." It's too bad she didn't have a briefcase, because you could tell she was dying to slam it shut, plop down on her chair and declare "case closed."

She had presented me as a kind of geeky guy who doesn't really know how to handle himself on a date and has medical issues and perhaps a drinking problem. A surprisingly accurate sketch, but not one that's going to get a room full of women to yell, "Get the bastard!"

As it happens, I'm not an alcoholic. I was just taking some time off drinking after being diagnosed with a gluten allergy. (I told you I was a geek.) Nothing serious at all, but I wasn't going to explain that. The room was on my side, and I was going to let Bette sweat it out. Back on my side, Jennifer pitched me a softball: "So, obviously you guys didn't have a great first date, but would you like to go out again?"

"Are you out of your mind?" I said, and the room erupted in laughter.

After I got off camera, producers surrounded me with apologies and congratulations. "We're so sorry! We thought it would be fun and playful, but she was just so, well, mean." I agreed and assured them it was fine, which it really was, and went on about my day. Bette, I remembered, was a performer — a cabaret singer, of course — and she was probably just looking for an easy way to get on TV. Apparently she had seen my first appearance and called the show, telling them she had been on a date with me and had some stories to tell.

But the segment turned out to be so unpleasant and uncomfortable that Whatever wouldn't be able to use it all. The lead producer called me an hour later to say they were cutting the whole thing. No harm, no foul. Surprisingly, I came through this public assault feeling a lot better about my general dateability, especially after several audience members stopped me outside and apologized for doubting me. One of them even offered me her daughter's phone number, with one word of warning: "Don't wear the backpack. That's really uncool."

For more of Barry Gilmore's writing, visit him on Twitter or his website.