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But I Definitely Do Weird

Story Sent in by Sharon:

I was on a pretty good first date with Daniel. We spoke, we laughed, we ate ice cream.

When we arrived at the topic of our pasts, he asked me, "Did you ever know anyone who died?"

We were both in our early thirties. What a strange question with an (I thought) obvious answer. I said, "Of course. You don't?"

He gave the heaviest of heavy sighs, hurried to finish his ice cream, then stood and said, "I'm sorry. I don't do sad."

Then he left. Poor guy.


Bark Attack

Story Sent in by David:

I nearly died on my first date with Amy. Back in high school I was smitten with her. We were in the same group of friends, but she never seemed interested in me. She was always dating someone else, and when I once asked her out, she told me in so many words that she preferred us as friends. So blah.

But that changed one day in senior year. We were working on the same advanced placement French project after school when I asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner that night.

She asked, "A date?"

She wasn't seeing anyone. I wasn't seeing anyone. It had been a year and a half since she had given me the "friends" line. We were seniors. If not now, when?


She paused in thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "Sure! Walk me home?"

Jackpot. I had never been to her house before, much less walked her much of anywhere. I figured we'd walk there, she'd freshen up a bit, and then we'd be on our way.

I was really nervous during the whole walk there, and I can't even really remember what I talked about. I was concentrating too hard on not sounding like an idiot. She had a nice house, a relatively average suburban type with a big, fenced-in yard. There were two big trees growing in front of it. A "beware of dog" sign should've been my first inkling that things were going to go south.

"You have a dog?" I asked Amy.

"Mandy," Amy said, "She's 100 pounds of pure love."

"A hundred pounds? Is she a seventh grader?"

Amy laughed. It was the last happy moment we'd have for a while.

Amy opened her door and Mandy the Rottweiler burst out and lunged at me.

I ran.

Oh my, I ran.

I bolted to the closest tree and leaped up unto its mighty boughs. They held my weight and I scrambled up as quickly as I could.

Below, Mandy leaped, snarled, and barked. I had no idea what I had done to set off these 100 pounds of pure love.

Amy was screaming, herself. She ran for Mandy and grabbed her and tried to calm her down. She finally half-dragged the dog back into the house and closed the door. Only then did I drop from the tree. I was amazed that I was poised enough to remain balanced on two legs. Amy apologized over and over and said she had no idea why Mandy had been so crazy.

I said that it was okay, that it would all be fine, that she had nothing to worry about, that–

Holy crap. From around the side of the house, Mandy bolted at me again.

My first thought was, "I hope I don't crap my pants," and my second thought was, "I hope the tree will hold me a second time."

I made it back to the tree again in the nick of time. Mandy tried once more for my sweet, tender, surprisingly tasty flesh and Amy again had to bring the dog inside. This time, though, Amy went inside with her.

It was soon discovered that one of Amy's parents had left the back door open, which explained how the dog had escaped a second time.

It was the fright of my life, and Amy ran to me and gave me a big hug. She took hold of my shoulders and, her face less than a foot from mine, asked me if I was okay.

I said, "I am, now."

She smiled.

I kissed her.

We dated for five years. While it didn't work out in the end, we're still friends.

But Mandy never ended up liking me.


Twist and Shout

Story Sent in by Delois:

Joe, who I met online, invited me to a street performance show for our first date. He told me that a friend of his was in it and that it would be a great time.

On the date, Joe led me to a city plaza where his friend was in an acrobatic group of six guys who performed with a boom box in front of a crowd. They flipped and danced and leaped and spun and it was all very impressive. I cheered and laughed with the crowd. After they were done and passed the hat around, I told Joe that I liked the performance a lot.

Joe had some sort of chip on his shoulder and as the crowd dispersed, he told me to follow him away.

I asked him, "Aren't you going to see your friend?"

Joe said, "You're my date."

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I followed him to an area with some restaurants, which is what I assumed we'd be doing next. But he was clearly in a bad mood. I asked him what was wrong.

He said, "I could do anything they could do. They weren't that great."

He then ran to a nearby wall and attempted to run up it and (I'm guessing) backflip off of it. A similar move was done dazzlingly well in the street performance. Surprisingly, Joe was actually able to flip most of the way around, although it was more of a side-flip than a backflip.

He landed on his feet but he screamed long and loud. Something was clearly wrong with his right ankle. I ran to his side to ask him, "Are you okay?"

He stumbled at me and I backed away. He said, "Go! Go out with one of those asshoIes from the performance! I saw how you looked at them!"

I was not looking at those performers with anything other than amazement. Did he really think I had any kind of desire for them?

Then, Joe actually attempted to do a flip again, but without nearly as much success. He kept yelling at me to go, go, go, so I went, went, went. I hope he made it home okay, but I never found out.


Let's Bounce

Story Sent in by Bruce:

For some reason, Marcia didn't wear a bra on our date to a local community fair. The outlines of her nipples were quite visible, poking through her shiny blouse like two fingertips. While they might've captured my attention for a short while, I was polite enough to keep my eyes off of them for the rest of our time, together.

But then she kept adjusting herself. I saw it out of the corner of my eye at first, and I wasn't sure if I had seen it. As we walked, she grabbed one of her boobs and just kind of bounced it around a bit, then let it flop back down. Then she did the same to the other one. Then she used both hands on that first one again. I pretended to not notice, although it was impossible not to. Still, she was matter-of-fact about it all.

Finally, she excused herself to use a bathroom, and I waited for her. When she came back, she said that her shirt was giving her some sort of allergic reaction.

"It's my first time wearing this blouse," she said, "and it sucks. And I chose today of all days to not wear a bra."

Now that it was out in the open, I was able to ask, "Why?"

She said, "Uh... I'm on a date? We suffer for our men."

This was the first I had heard of such a practice. I said, "I think I would've been okay if you wore a bra."

"No, you wouldn't," she said, "You would've said something. 'I can't see your boobs,' or something like that."

I couldn't think of a set of circumstances that would cause me to say that on a date. I said, "I think you should give me more credit."

"Whatever," she said, "This blouse sucks and it's driving me crazy. Can we call it a day?"

We did. Only date.


Mane Event

Story Sent in by Sharon:

When I first met Edward for our date, I noticed his hair was a mess. As in it didn't look like he had run a comb through it since waking up. He was otherwise well-dressed, but his spiky, cowlick-ridden, all-over-the-place brown hair just drew attention to itself. It looked like a lion had had an accident with a hair dryer.

At dinner, as if he knew that, he ran his hand through it several times and made pathetic attempts to flatten sticking-up areas. It didn't do any good. I didn't mention anything about it although it was hard to concentrate on anything else. He also itched his head like crazy. It was less than alluring.

After dinner, he asked me to follow him to a convenience store. While there, he grabbed a pair of scissors from where they were being sold on a shelf. He removed them from their package then snipped away at his hair, letting it fall all about himself and onto the floor. Once he was done, his hair didn't look much better, and there were hairs all over his shoulders and face and mouth.

He then replaced the scissors on the shelf. He hadn't even paid for them. We left the store together and he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I wanted to go home, and that's exactly what I did.