And Grandma's Nickname Was "Oyster Cracker"

Email Sent in by Donna:

Hi there,

I have to tell you; you have the best profile ever. Would you mind if we called our first son Soup? As in the food? That was my grandfather's nickname and I promised him that I would name a child after him. Soup.

As long as you're cool with that we can move on to the next order of business: what to name our daughter if we unfortunately have one of those. We should also call her Soup. After my grandfather who I promised him I would name a child after him of which I would call by his name.

Pray for no daughters! I'm for real,

Charles

A Bad Smurf of the Smurfs

Story Sent in by Lisa:

Pete and I were walking together on our third date. We had planned to spend the day strolling through Central Park, grab a light lunch, then take in a museum, then dinner, and then we'd play it by ear. I was very excited to see him again, and it appeared as if we were progressing together very well.

As we ambled down a path and spoke, he took my hand. I said, "It sounds like you've moved around a lot. How many states have you lived in?"

"Five, for measurable stretches," he said, "I–" and he froze and stared at the path before us.

I glanced ahead. Nothing was there but a slight breeze.

I asked, "Pete? What's wrong?"

He let go of my hand, screamed, "Smurf!" then tore ahead on the path and dove into a clump of nearby bushes.

I ran after him. He struggled his way through the shrubs and I yelled, "Pete! What are you doing?"

"Smurf! Smurf!" he yelled back, dragging himself deeper into the greenery. His feet were still sticking out, and I pulled back on one of them, but he jerked away and pulled himself deeper in.

"Pete!" I stood there and yelled after him, "Pete!"

I felt like an idiot, and other people were passing by and looking. I heard him scuff and scrape around until he said, "Damn it… damn it."

Pete crawled out of the bushes the same way he had entered. His clothing was a mess, and his face was streaked and filthy. He brushed himself off.

"Sorry about that," he said, then cleared his throat and went on, "We moved away from Florida as soon as we could, then my parents moved us to Pennsylvania, then, as you know, my folks split, and so I–"

"Pete, what the hell? Smurfs?"

"What about them?"

I pointed to the bushes. "What the hell was that all about?"

"What?" he glanced at the shrubs, "Oh! That." He shrugged. "Sometimes I see Smurfs. I don't know. Too much TV growing up, I guess."

He took my hand and we walked on. He didn't mention another word about his Smurfy escapade, and it creeped me out enough to make me end the date shortly after lunch.

My Friend, the Washcloth

Story Sent in by Ian:

Amanda and I met online and after exchanging several messages, I asked her if she wanted to meet in person. She ignored that question and went on to address everything else in my message except for that.

Perhaps she hadn't seen it. I replied to her subsequent message and again asked her, in the context of other information, if she wanted to meet in person. Again, she ignored the query in her reply. Finally, I wrote her a message with the single phrase, "Would you like to meet up, sometime?"

She wrote back: "Fine."

I wrote her again, to hash out the particulars. She seemed unenthusiastic about the entire thing, but I figured that if she didn't want to meet up, then she wouldn't be going along with the idea. Besides, why be on a dating site if you're not going to actually go out with people?

The night of the date, I went out to the restaurant where we had arranged to meet, and I was surprised to find her there with another girl. They had been sitting next to each other in a booth when I arrived.

The girl introduced herself, "I'm Colleen. Amanda's friend."

"Hi Colleen," I said, "Nice to meet you. What are you doing here?"

She took Amanda's hand and said, "I'm just moral support. Have a seat!"

I turned my attention to Amanda, who had thus far not said anything. "Is Colleen going to be with us the whole time?"

Colleen asked me, "Is that a problem? I'm not going to interfere with anything. Amanda just asked me to come along."

Amanda whispered, "Please, Ian. Just for a little bit. I'm just really nervous. It's my first time meeting someone from online."

Ah. Now it made more sense. It was still strange, but I was able to understand her intentions better. I sat down, we ordered drinks, and I started the conversation… and for the most part, kept it going.

Colleen kept a tight hold on Amanda's hand, and also had a habit of laughing after everything I said, regardless of humor content. I'd say, "…and that's how I got my first graphic design gig," and Colleen would make this donkey laugh, like, "Heeeeeee…" followed by a short snort. I laughed at it, myself the first few times that I heard it.

Not long after we ordered dinner, Amanda, who had barely said a word,  whispered into Colleen's ear, and Colleen turned to me and said, "Excuse us." The two left the table and headed for the bathroom.

Amanda came back alone, but she had something clenched tightly in her fist. It looked like a rag, or

"A washcloth," she said, noting my gaze, "I'm trying to do it without Colleen."

"Do what?"

"Stay here. At dinner. I needed her for support, but now I can pretend she's here with this washcloth. Don't get too excited. She's watching, and she has 911 on speed dial in case you try anything."

The best response I could think of was, "Separate checks?"

"If that's how it's done," she replied.

After dinner, I looked forward to going home, so we left the restaurant (no sign of Colleen) and we walked outside together. I said, "Nice meeting you," to Amanda.

Amanda, still with the washcloth clutched in her hand, nodded, then said, "Wait with me, for just a minute? Colleen's getting the car."

"Okay."

We stood in silence for two awkward minutes. Colleen pulled up to the curb in a car with the windows rolled down. She yelled to Amanda, "Are you okay? I've got 911 on speed dial!"

Amanda bolted for the car as if I had just tried to force myself upon her. "No, I'm not okay!" she said, trying the passenger door. Apparently, it was locked. Amanda screamed, "I'm not okay! Open the door! Open the door! Open it now!"

Colleen pounded on her power lock and the door opened. Amanda threw herself in and Colleen floored it away from me. It was a real head-scratcher, and I welcomed never hearing from either of them again.

The Last Frontier

Story Sent in by Tricia:

Chris and I had been together for just over a year. On our first date, he had taken me bowling, and we had such a good time that I would always ask him, every few weeks or so, if he wanted to go bowling again.

He'd always say, "Sure," but we never ended up doing it for some reason or another. Finally, he agreed to come with me, and we made plans to do it for a Friday night.

Up until this point, I had no idea that anything was wrong in our relationship. He hadn't breathed a word to me that there was any sort of problem, and sure hadn't acted like anything was amiss.

That night, he drove me to the bowling alley parking lot. I stepped out of the car once we had parked. Then, he threw the car into reverse, flew out of the parking spot, almost hit three guys walking together, then jetted forward and took off, leaving me there.

I called him immediately. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, cool as paint, "What's up?"

"Uh... you coming back here? What's wrong with you?"

A pause, then, "Yeah. I had to go. Talk to you later." He hung up. My additional calls went to his voicemail.

I called a friend who picked me up and dropped me off at Chris's place. I wanted to work things out and see what the issue was.

When I arrived there, his apartment door was locked. I knocked, called, and even slipped a note under the door. We had been with each other for about a year, and this was very distressing to me. He had never acted like this before. I finally left him a last message on his voicemail, telling him that I assumed that he needed space, and that he should call me whenever he wanted to. Also, he had a few of my things in his apartment, so if this was his way of ending things, then I at least wanted them back.

I didn't hear from him, and a little over a week later, when I went back to visit his apartment, his name was off the door.

I called him one more time and left a voicemail, asking him to drop off my things. No response. It wasn't anything irreplaceable, but still.

Two years later, nearly to the day, I received a large, heavy package in the mail. It was postmarked from Alaska. It had most of my stuff, and a blank piece of paper. A note? I'll probably never know.

But Can You Heal Snozberries?

Profile Sent in by Andrew:

I'm really good at:

I am always my friends' first choice to go fruit picking with because I always pick amazing fruit. Apple picking especially. Ruined fruit turns beautiful when I hold it in my hands. I cannot explain it I believe it is a gift from God. I simply take the fruit lovingly in my hands and whisper close to it and it heals any bruise. I'm not making this up.

Last year a friend of mine's 3 year old stepped on a bushel of strawberries that they didn't want the 3 year old asshole to step on. I took the entire bushel in my hands, whispered, held them to the sky, and when I took my hands down they had healed… I didn't want to give the asshole the strawberries but my friend gave him some. Different life outlooks I guess, lol.

Clouds in My Coffee

Story Sent in by George:

On a partly cloudy day in my early twenties, Victoria and I were on a picnic date at a local park. It was our second time meeting, although it was arguably our first date, as the first time we met was a quick meet-and-greet at a coffee shop after speaking online for a few weeks.

The more I spoke to her (in general), the more I realized that she had trouble focusing on much of anything, as if her mind was already on the next topic while speaking about something. There was, however, one thing I discovered that she seemed to focus on immediately, after we set up our lunches on the blanket.

"Oh my God," she said, pointing at the sky, "Look at the clouds. It looks like those two are screwing."

I followed her pointing finger and looked up to see, well, two clouds, close together, one nearly on top of the other.

"It sure does," I said with a smile, "Want some iced coffee?"

She didn't answer, but instead lay down on the blanket and scanned the sky. She pointed at a clumpy cumulus cloud. "That one looks like a large, erect penis," she said.

It looked nothing like that. I pulled out our plastic containers of salad and offered her a fork. She didn't take it, instead opting to point to another cloud. "Oh my God! That one looks like an elephant's penis!" she screamed.

It was funny at the time, and so I laughed as I finished setting up lunch. She didn't seem interested, though. She pointed to another formation. "That one looks like a…" she scrunched her brow as she gave it a lot of thought, then finished, "…a penis, and that one," she pointed to another, "looks like a whale penis."

Half-confused, half very, very curious, I asked, "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

She sat up and looked me dead in the eye. "You tell me. You're the one who took me out here on a day where all the clouds look like penises. Was that on purpose?" she asked without a hint of humor.

I chuckled all the same. "Unfortunately, I don't control the clouds."

Her nostrils flared and she raised her voice. Had I hit a nerve? "I know that! I'm not an idiot, George. But the fact that you brought me out here, underneath a very suggestive cloud cover… I mean, what's a girl supposed to think?"

I replied, "Seeing as how we planned this picnic for about a week, I'm not sure how I could've known that every cloud would look like a penis to you."

"You're making me sound like a prissy idiot," she protested, "Look, I'm not the crazy one, here. You're trying to tell me that every cloud above us doesn't somehow look suggestive?"

I pointed to the large cumulus that I mentioned before. "That one looks more like Australia than anatomy."

She threw up her hands. "Oh, okay. So you are saying that I'm a prissy idiot. I got you." She then grabbed her food and wolfed it down.

I asked, "What are you…? Why are you…? Um, Victoria…"

She guzzled down her iced coffee, then said, "I guess I should've known… the one thing that looks most like a penis has been sitting next to me this whole time!"

"There's no need to be a prissy idiot, Victoria…"

She sprang up, clenched her fists, and stared down at me. For a moment, I was positive that she'd take a swing, so close she stood and such trembling. I didn't move. Finally, she said, "You're not even worth it."

"Neither are you," I replied, "Are we calling it a day?"

We did.

Seems Like a Catch, Except for That One Detail...

Profile Sent in by Samantha:

About me:

I'm a retail manager with a bachelor's degree. Pathetic, perhaps, but I'm quitting next month to go to grad school and to follow my dreams. Poverty-inducing, perhaps, but better to have a life wherein I've at least tried something courageous, right? Grad school program's in engineering. Here goes nothin'…!


The six things I couldn't live without:

1. My cat.
2. My family (but everyone says that. Does it still count?)
3. A healthy dose of adventure.
4. My friends (from high school and college)
5. Days off!
6. At least five good books at any given time.


Who I'm looking for:

HAIL MBANDKHZU. HE IS MY LORD. HE IS THE GOD KING OF ADULTHOOD AND HIS WEAPONS ARE DEMONS HEAD STAFF AND HIS VOICE SHAKES THE GROUND UNDER CHILDREN'S FEET. HE EATS UNWARY CHILDREN. HE IS THE DEMON KING OF DISAPPEARANCES AND LOCKED BOXES. MBANDKHZU WATCHES YOU SLEEP. HE JUDGES YOUR WORTH. MBANDKHZU!

HAIL MBANDKHZU! DURING MASS MY PRAYERS ARE SAID TO YOU. KEEP EATING GREAT LORD OF THE DEMONS HEAD STAFF AND NEVER BE SATIATED. UPON THIS WORLD BLOC I KNOW. YOU ARE MY FRUIT TREE AMIDST THE FLESH CIRCUS. MBANDKHZU

Garbage In, Garbage Out

Story Sent in by Nick:

The summer before I started college, I met Lucille online. We spoke for a little while on the phone, and made arrangements for a first date for a beautiful summer evening. I arrived outside the restaurant about five minutes before our meeting time, but she was already there, searching through a garbage bin.

I asked, "Lucille? What are you doing?"

She looked up, waved hello, and said, "I dropped something in here," and dove back into it.

"Can I help? What did you drop?"

She didn't look up, but said, "I can't tell you," then engulfed herself, deep into the trash.

I said, "Maybe I could help you dump it all out so that you wouldn't have to search through it all like that?"

She said, "Then I'd have to put it all back in, and… no."

I waited as she kept rifling through, then said, again, "Are you sure I can't help?"

"Sure, I'm sure," she said, and I waited as she dug deeper into the trash. After another few minutes, she said, "I might be a while. Want to meet up later?"

"When later?"

She said, "I don't know. Tomorrow?"

I told her, "I'm going out of state tomorrow," which was the truth.

"Okay, then," was her response. Trash spilled out as she pulled herself even deeper into the bin.

"I'm going to go," I said, finally.

"All right," she replied, "See you tomorrow."

I left. I never found out what she had lost, and I never heard from her after that.

Which Wetpart Don't You Understand?

Email Sent in by Claire:

You want to tell me what the hell it means on your profile when you say that you want to be friends first? As opposed to buckets of sex and then whoopsy daisy! guess we forgot to be friends in all of that! I always thought that being friends was automatic…. not sure what planet you're from.

I plan on being friends but it's unavoidable if you go into something romantically with someone. You kiss, guess what you're firends. You rip off clothes guess what you're friends. You do that bed shaking horizontal salsa dance of sliding wetparts, guess what? you're firends! Willing or not you are firends so duh yes.

How do you define freinds, then? People to play checkers/shuffleboard with on rainy days down at old folks' home? Then find an old friend whose wetparts do not no longer work they will be friends. you are on this site to make friends but also more than friends wtf.

Dennis

Master Splinter Would Be so Disappointed

Story Sent in by Mary:

Will and I had been out on two dates already. During the first one, he was pretty introverted and didn't say much. I guessed that he was nervous and I decided to give him a second chance. Same thing the second date. I agreed to a third one just to make absolutely sure that that was his personality, rather than nerves. He invited me to his house for dinner and a movie.

I arrived and he ushered me into his living room, where I found about a half dozen books on his coffee table, all about martial arts and ninjas.

"Into ninjas?" I asked him.

He led me into his den, where swords, throwing stars, and knives of all sorts were mounted on the walls in various display cases, although some were out and leaning against the walls.

I said, "I had no idea that you were that into all of this."

He said, "I'm a self-trained master. Want to see?"

Without waiting for a response, he went for a closet, pulled out a scuffed, beaten-up wooden target, and carried it out of the house to his back yard. I followed him there. He went back inside, then returned with a handful of throwing stars. He set up the target against a tree, then picked up the pile of throwing stars next to his house, and then threw them, one right after the other, at the target.

Not one of them hit. Most fell short, into the grass, or else overshot it and hit the wooden fence that surrounded the yard.

Once he had exhausted his supply (he had about a dozen of them), he recovered them, or at least as many as he could find in the growing darkness. He then returned to me, turned back to the target, and threw them at it once more. One of them hit but bounced off.

"That counts," he said, and continued to pitch them like playing cards. Once he was done with this second round, he went to gather them up again.

"Help me find them," he said, "I don't want them lying out here. They were expensive."

Hoping that I didn't accidentally step on any of them (I was wearing shoes, but they were definitely sharp), I did my best to help him recover them. I found two. He found seven.

"We have to keep looking," he said, "I don't want, like, a neighborhood dog to come in here tonight and think it's a chew toy and run away with it."

"That's what you're concerned about?" I asked.

He said, "Yeah. They were around $100 each. They're real."

I helped him for another 10 minutes before I said, "I think these are all I'm going to find."

He handed me the stars he had found and said, "Bring those inside on your way out, would you? I'm sorry, but I have to find these."

I went back inside with the nine or so that we had both found, left them on a mantle in the den, and left.

Not five minutes after I had gone, he called me in a panic. He asked, "Where did you put the stars I so specifically asked you to bring inside? Where are they?"

"On a mantle in the den," I said.

He sighed. "Okay. Good. I hope you didn't scratch them. Have a good night." He hung up.

In the ensuing days, he wrote me a message about something or other, but I didn't really take him seriously anymore after that whole incident, so, likely having skimmed it, I don't remember what it said.

A True Revolutionary

Profile Sent in by Julia:

About me:

It's time for me to be straight with the world: I have joined the shadowe army against the current way of things. I will rebel against governments and all authority unti my demands are met. My demands include better working conditions for the common man, a higher wage for the common man, and electing of me to some position of powers.

The time is over for me to sit back. I have to take that which is mine and there's no reason for me to not start. Years from now you will all say it started here! You heard it here first! Join or be blocked on this site!

Turncoat

Story Sent in by Jeremy:

I was at a bar on my first date with Martha. It was a little chilly in there, and I asked her if she wanted to borrow my jacket, as she hadn't worn one there. She put it on and thanked me for it.

We spent about an hour and a half longer there before we both felt that it was time to call it a night. We stood, and she pulled my jacket tight around her. I figured that I'd walk her to her car and take my coat back.

As I paid the bill, she left in a hurry, without saying bye or even waiting for me. Or giving me my jacket back.

I told the waitstaff that I'd be right back for my card, then booked it after her.

She was a good distance down the sidewalk, but I chased her down. She looked back, saw me, yelped, and ran on. "Wait!" I called, "I just want my coat back!"

She ran faster, but I ultimately caught up and grabbed the back of my coat. "I just want my coat back," I repeated, "That's it!"

"It's my coat!" she screamed, then, in an abrupt 180, she slipped out of it and said, "Fine, take it!" and walked briskly back to her vehicle. I remained standing there, dumbfounded for several moments, then put the coat on, walked back to the bar, grabbed my card, then headed to my car and drove off.

Despite how well the date had gone up until that point, the coat incident soured me on the idea of ever reaching out to her again.

Why So Many Beer Bottles in Your Back Seat?

Email Sent in by Len:

You and I are like two broken beerbottles together in the back seat of life. Sometimes you win some sometimes you lose sometimes you win some. Which are you?

My roommaattee and I saw your profile and we LIKE IT but I am going to write to you first! My roommate is funnnn... she wants to have sex in a cinnamon enclosure of glass with lots of wild animals watching.

I kinda like her. Will you play the wild animal? Just kidding no we won't have sex or watch us having it.

a little drunk right about... now.

I want to melt your pretty smiling face off surrounded by candles the candles are what would burn not spells or potions. What say you?

Sorry I will wrote better message hahaha wild animals looking at me.

Lydia

Ugly Is as Ugly Does

Story Sent in by Shaun:

Lynda had a profile up on a dating site. She seemed very bright and accomplished, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. I thought that I had nothing to lose by writing to her. I wrote a concise email with a little about me, a couple of questions for her, and a sprinkling of humor.

She wrote back two days later: "Dear Shaun: No thanks." Oh well. I guessed that was it.

A week later, she wrote me again. "That's it? You're not going to fight for me?"

I wrote back, "No thanks."

It was a strange exchange, and I thought that it would be the last time that I heard from her. Instead, later that day, I received another terse statement: "6:30 at Molly Malone's. I'll be in red and black."

Molly Malone's was a nearby pub. I thought it strange that Lynda would want to meet me at all, but I had nothing going on that evening, and I was up for the unexpected.

At 6:30, I made it to the pub. As promised, Lynda was in red and black. After introducing herself, she said, "Everything is on me tonight."

I said, "That's nice of you, but you don't have to."

She replied, "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure that you earn it. Could you go grab me an extra napkin?"

I stood up, took a spare napkin from the host's station, and brought it back to the table.

"Good," she said.

The waitress came by to ask for our drink orders. Lynda ordered two Manhattans for both of us without asking me what I wanted. After the waitress left, Lynda asked me, "Why did you write to me in the first place?"

I said, "Because I thought you seemed like a good person to get to know."

Lynda laughed. "That is so adorable! Oh, you're just like the others."

"Others?"

"None of your business… asshole."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm paying for dinner."

The question mark that had been hovering over my head must have blazed brightly indeed by this point. I asked her, "What has that got to do with you calling me an asshole?"

She said, "Everything. You wanted to have a date with me, right?"

"I thought I did."

"Oh, so now you're above me? Is that what you're saying? I can't believe this."

"What are you talking about?"

"I make the time for you and this is how you treat me? You really are an asshole."

"Lynda–"

"And ugly. An ugly asshole." She must have sensed that I was a moment away from leaving, because she added, "I'm paying for dinner, so you might as well stay. Ugly, ugly asshole."

I didn't know what to say. She leaned back, seemingly pretty satisfied with herself. "You'll stay. You always do. It's so funny how much abuse you'll put up with."

As I watched, she reached under the shoulder of her blouse and pulled out a light pink bra strap just enough for me to see. She then licked her lips.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. I held mine up to toast her, but she just rolled her eyes and sipped away. I drank mine down in a couple of minutes, stood, said, "Thanks for the drink," and left her there.

She wrote me that night: "Wow. I'm impressed. If you ever want a proper date, then write me back."

I'd love a proper date. I fear, however, that any date with her would always be anything but.

Every Dog Has His Date

Emails Sent in by Reagan:

Hello again Reagan.

It has been two days since I have heard from you. I hope you're not dead, since that's the only reason I can imagine for you not writing me back sooner.

I imagine that you were writing me back, but that a team of escaped bulldogs (from the bulldog zoo) happened upon you and thought your chest cavity a place of refuge. They tore into you (don't worry you died quickly) nourished themselves on your meats, and thusly prevented you from writing me back. Or perhaps you actively chose to not write me back for a mysterious reason. You'd better hope it was the former explanation, then.

Is that what happened? Unless I hear back from you, then I will assume so.

Henry

*********************************************
Reagan Responds:

Dear Henry:

I'm one of the bulldogs who killed Reagan. Sorry.

We won't be coming after you, as we avoid eating people who are filled with shit.

Woof, bark, bark!
Spike

Be Nice to Retail Workers Today

Story Sent in by Rhiannon:

Kyle and I met online and went out on one date together. He had come across as funny online, but in person he was loud, obnoxious, and not really my type.

During the date, I let slip that I worked at a particular unisex clothing store at a nearby mall. Once the date was over, I received an email from him, telling me that he had a good time and wanted to take me out again. I replied that I appreciated it, but that I didn't see long-term potential. I didn't hear from him again after that.

Two days later was Friday, and it was a national holiday. We were swamped from opening and throughout the day. Who should show up but Kyle.

"Hey, Rhiannon," he said when he walked in, greeting me like we were best friends.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

He said, "Oh, I'm just shopping. Can you help me?"

I knew he was up to something. He could barely contain a smile. I wanted him out of the store as quickly as possible, so I made the mistake of being helpful: "What do you need?"

For the next hour (yes, a solid hour), he used me, essentially, as his personal shopping assistant. "Do you have this in blue?" "Do you have it in small? What about medium? Or large?" "Can you check the back room? I'll wait." "Can you help me carry all of these? I want to try them all on!" "I don't like any of these. I'm looking for something that's a 36-inch leg." "Now I'm looking for something with a 40-inch leg."

He had me running ragged. Finally, when both of our arms were bursting with apparel, he dropped all of his items on the floor by the registers. "You know what?" he said, "Never mind.  I don't think I'll buy anything today. What a nice second date this was. See you soon!" and left me there with a big pile of clothes.

One of my good friends, Lisa, also worked there, and she had been instrumental in getting me the job there in the first place. I nearly cried about the whole thing in the back room. She was great, though. "If he comes back," she said, "You let me know. We'll deal with it."

I wasn't expecting him to come back. There was no way he'd be that big of an asshole.

He was. The very next day, Saturday, he showed up again with that same big smile on his face. I made a beeline for Lisa as soon as I saw him and asked her if she and I could go to the back room together.

Once there, we hatched a plan. The store wasn't yet as busy as it had been the day before, but it was still a risk, and required the help of every sales associate in the store. Lisa instructed me to go out and help Kyle as I had the prior day, and to leave the rest to her.

As before, so again. Kyle gave me a big hello and said, "You know what? I feel kind of bad about how yesterday went. Maybe we could start with the shirts today, and then I'd feel a bit better about buying something. I had an argument with my mom, so I'm out of the house all day. Lucky you, right?"

Right. I went to work, helping him out as diligently as possible. Not ten minutes later, I had already helped him pick out five shirts when Lisa brushed by and said to me, "Rhiannon, Amanda called about those blouses. She'll be in around three to pick them up," then muttered, "Small dick," quickly and went on her way.

Kyle snorted and asked me, "Did she just say, 'small dick'?"

I replied, "I didn't hear her say that."

He didn't mention anything else about it. Not long afterward, Gina, another sales associate, came by with an armful of shirts to hang up. She slipped by Kyle and I and said, "Oh, excuse me," then, in a low voice, said, "Small dick."

"Hey," Kyle said, tapping Gina on her shoulder, "Did you just say 'small dick'?"

Gina smiled at him. "Uh… no, sir." She glanced at me. I looked from her to Kyle.

From behind, Liam, another sales associate, walked by and said, "Small dick," louder than he likely had to, then coughed into his arm.

Lisa came up from behind me. "Rhiannon, once you're done helping out this customer, I need you to," she looked Kyle dead in the face and said, "small dick," then turned back to me, "I need you to help out at the registers."

"Sure thing," I said. Lisa went on her way. I turned to Kyle with a smile. "Were you ready to look at pants, yet?"

Kyle said, "You're all so fucking fired. Where's your manager?"

Did I mention that Lisa was the manager? I led Kyle to the registers, where Lisa was. I said, "Lisa, this customer wanted to talk to you."

Some color drained out of Kyle's face, and she brightened when she saw him. "Can I help you, sir?"

He hesitated, then said, "I'm going to call your boss, the regional… or the world manager, whoever it is, and I'll tell him what you're all doing. You're going to–"

Lisa cut in, "If you walk in my store and harass my employees one more time, I will call security and have you escorted out of the mall. Are we clear?"

Kyle didn't say anything. Lisa went on, "I have a lot of employees ready to say that you harassed Rhiannon repeatedly yesterday. Keep yourself out of my store, okie dokie?"

It was creating a bit of a scene, but Kyle knew when he was beaten. He shouldered by me and nearly ran out of the store. Lisa and I watched him go, then she turned to me. "Ready to hop on the register?"

Never saw Kyle again.

Happy Thanksgiving

Story Sent in by James:

I had been dating Ann for a solid three months when Thanksgiving rolled around. She invited me to her aunt and uncle's where a big, Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving was the norm. It was bigger each year thanks to another set of nieces, nephews, or cousins who married, gave birth, or (sometimes) both. It was going to be a large event, and I looked forward to meeting her extended family.

Ann, it should be noted, was a slight girl, shorter and smaller than I.

Unfortunately, the day before the big dinner, I came down with what was later diagnosed as gastroenteritis, also known as stomach flu. At the time, I thought it was just some bad chicken, and didn't think much of it.

The morning of Thanksgiving, my stomach felt like someone had punched it repeatedly overnight. The fever hadn't fully kicked in yet, but something was clearly wrong. Still, I felt that bowing out of dinner just because of some phantom stomach pain would've been poor form, so I popped some antacids, skipped breakfast, and went with Ann to her family's Thanksgiving.

While I was walking around at the house, following Ann as she introduced me to her relatives, I came down with the shakes. I thought, "I hope it's just nerves." It wasn't.

We sat down to dinner, and I immediately felt about a hundred times worse. Whatever it was, it was hitting hard and settling in for the long haul.

Words spoken at the table all echoed unpleasantly in my ears, and my stomach rumbled like a riot. "Just hold it together," I thought, "You can do this."

In response, my stomach made a sound like, "Blloooorrraaaagh," and then my mouth followed suit as I vomited gloppy orange puke onto the table.

There were some cries. At least two people said, "Oh, God!" and I heard the sound of chairs scraping the floor and silverware dropping against dishes. Heard, not saw, as everything became blurry soon afterward, and a set of strong hands, I'm not sure whose, ushered me to a bathroom and cleaned me up.

My eyes were squeezed shut by that point. Without a word, whoever it was who had helped me mopped my face with a damp towel, took off my own shirt, put another shirt on me, and shortly afterward half-pulled me to the guest bedroom and set me up in the bed.

In my fevered, swimming mind, my concern for my own well-being was soon forced aside for deep gratitude and affection for this person, (I guessed it was a guy due to the grip on my arms) who had snapped right to action when I was ill. He knew exactly what to do. The one thing I wanted to do before passing into sleep was to look him in the eye and thank him.

Just before I opened my eyes, a thought shot across my mind: "What if it's Ann? If it is, I've got to marry her."

I opened my eyes and blinked them a couple of times to be sure.

It was Ann, after all.

She lightly touched her fingertips to my eyelids and closed them. "Shhh," she said, "Sleep," and kissed my forehead and ran her hand through my hair.

Ten year anniversary this year.

A Night Drinking Gold Sounds Preferable

Story Sent in by Nina:

Vince and I went out to a coffee shop together for our first date. When it was our turn in line, he asked me what I wanted and said that it was on him. I thanked him, then ordered a medium drink.

The barista added it all up and said, "That'll be eight-fifty-four."

Vince cringed. "Ooh," he said, "That's a lot. How about knocking that down to six even?"

The barista frowned. "I'm sorry. Those are our prices."

"Your prices suck," Vince said, then turned to me. "We're out of here."

I was stunned, but I followed him out to the parking lot. He asked me, "What now?"

I replied, "We could… um… go to a diner. They probably have cheaper coffee."

"Good idea."

We went to a nearby diner. I ordered a drink and he ordered a drink and a fruit cup. Most of our time there, he decried the coffee shop. "Eight-fifty for two coffees," he muttered, "What are they made of? Liquid gold? Even if they were, liquid gold would be too hot and poisonous to drink. They were probably trying to kill us."

I said, "Well I'm glad that we at least found a place to sit and relax. Did you want to take a walk after this?"

He went on, raising his voice, "Back in my day, a place could get shut down for serving poison to its customers. Not anymore!"

"Back in your day? We're the same age."

"Thank god we lived to see this age. If we had stayed there, paid eight-fifty and drank that liquid gold, we'd be dead on the pavement. That'd be shitty, wouldn't it?"

"I guess."

"With holes in our throats from the heat of the gold. It would've burned out all of our organs."

"Let's stop talking about it."

"The best laxative of all! That's their plan. To clean out all the room in your body for more of their crap. I see right through it all."

The bill came not long after. He picked it up and stared at it for several moments. "Holy shit," he said, "Two cups of coffee and a fruit cup. Over nine-fifty?" He looked up. "Waiter!" he yelled.

The waiter came over. Vince said, "Nine-fifty-seven for two coffees and a fruit cup? Are you out of your mind? I could've picked fruit for free at the side of the road."

"But you got it here, sir," the waiter replied as if he'd had this conversation before, "We picked it for you."

"Bullshit," Vince said louder than necessary, "You had it shipped to you from a supermarket, and I know that it doesn't cost that much in labor to arrange the fruit in a fruit cup. Or maybe it does," he said, standing up, "I'm going to go ask your chef."

Vince strode away from the table. The waiter followed him. "Sir, you can't go in there…"

I hurried into my pocketbook, dropped two dollars on the table for my coffee, and left as quickly as possible. Vince sent me several texts, demanding to know where I was. I wrote him that there had been an emergency and had to go suddenly. He wrote back, "Yeah, whatever," and that was the last time that I've heard from him.

We Make Great Pets

Profile Sent in by Joan:

What I'm doing with my life:

I work. That's all you need to know. Enough to feed myself and pay my bills. This sites questions are too personal. How dare you ask me what I'm doing with my life? What about you, people who run this site? What are YOU doing with your lifes? Besides reading me private info! We should all rebel against the bastards who want us to give up our freedoms just so that they could make a quick buck! What business is it of theirs? Or YOURS! Trolling my profile looking for my secrets, well you will get exclactly what you deserve, which is nothing. Go play 1984 someplace else you sick dick excuse for a human blabbing parakeet.

I work in a pet store. It is good and rewarding.

Second Place Is First Winner

Story Sent in by Spencer:

Jen and I were out on our second date, at a museum, when we bumped into a friend of hers, Nathan. He seemed like a good guy, and he and Jen seemed close. It didn't bother me. If anything, it makes me feel better to see that a woman has friends.

It was when she invited him along to lunch that I raised an eyebrow. This was a date, right?

Luckily, Nathan politely refused, and we parted ways from him. It was afterward that I noticed that Jen fell mostly silent.

I try not to let issues fall by the wayside, so at lunch, I asked her, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she replied.

"What's really on your mind?"

She sighed several times, then said, "You ever have to make a decision in your life?"

I waited for additional qualifiers, but there weren't any. I asked her, "Like which brand of toothpaste to buy?"

"No. Like which guy I'd rather sleep with."

I replied, "I've never had to decide between two guys. Why do you bring it up?"

She said, "I don't know. Seeing Nathan just now... I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't be saying this... I've always been attracted to him."

It was only a second date. She was giving me an out. More than giving. Shoving it at me with a frothing mouth. I could have fought for her, but based on her admission, I didn't really want to. Well, it was fun while it lasted. I said, "Then go for him."

She said, "I like you too, though. I couldn't sleep with both of you at once, could I?" she asked hopefully.

I replied, "I don't know about Nathan, but I'd probably have a problem with that. Seriously, go for him. No hard feelings."

"But I like you, too," she said, "Did I just royally screw this up?"

I nodded. "Kind of. Yeah. But it's really okay. I'm not going to scream and shout about it. I'm glad I know now, rather than a year from now."

"I could see myself sleeping with both of you. Is that bad?"

"No, but—"

"But I could see myself having much crazier sex with Nathan. Does that make sense?"

Where was that waiter with the check? Yes, we had just sat down and ordered drinks, but I had the rest of my Jen-less life to lead.

She went on, "I can't decide. I'm sorry. Could I, I don't know... would it be weird if...?" she laughed.

"Out with it," I said, losing patience. I was a moment away from putting money down on the table and jetting.

"Would it be weird if I slept with Nathan, just to see if I liked it, and then, if I didn't, I'd sleep with you?"

As I had imagined myself doing, I put my money on the table and jetted.

She wrote me an email about four days later to let me know that Nathan had rejected her and that she was "willing to give [me] another chance." Such a generous offer deserved all the silence it received in return.

"Kind, Sweet, Charming"

Profile Sent in by Lance:

Who I'm looking for:

I'd like someone kind, sweet, charming, and easy to talk to. Are you her? We've all been hurt before. It would be nice to meet a person who has grown as a result of her experiences. Grown in many ways. Which leads to my next question: Are you a big girl or small girl? I bear a mighty lode that can club midgets so I must ask.

No Niece Is Good Niece

Story Sent in by Sarah:

Seth invited me out to dinner for a Friday night. The day of, he called to ask me if, in addition to dinner, I'd be interested in seeing his little niece's third-grade recital at her elementary school.

"It won't take long," he promised, "And I'll take you out to dessert wherever you want afterward." It didn't sound like a bad deal, so I told him that I'd do it.

That night, he rushed us through dinner to get to the recital early. We were among the first ones there. It filled up while we sat there, and about five minutes before it began, he stood up and told me, "I'll be right back."

The recital began without him. Ten minutes in, I texted him. Twenty minutes in, I excused myself to the lobby, where I gave him a call. No answer. I waited for another few minutes, tried him again, left another voicemail, and then left the recital completely.

I didn't hear from him until over a year later. He wrote to me, a classic email: "You're in my contact list, but I have no idea who you are. How do we know each other?"

I wrote back a terse response: "I'm Sarah, the girl you left at your niece's recital last year."

He replied back, "I have no niece."

You Said You Wanted an Inventive Man

Email Sent in by Bianca:

You are a true lady. I can tell. You know what's what! I can use a woman like you. See, I have invented and built a contraption that requires a woman as its missing ingredient! I have the bed, the sweet lovin, and SPERM. All I need is a woman who knows the time of day. I have a suspicion that this is you! What do you say???

Leon

That's Grows

Story Sent in by Bradley:

Tanya and I met at a skating rink. She nearly skated into me, and after a string of apologies, we entered into small talk, the end result of which was me asking her for her number. At the time, her hair was long, blonde, and pretty.

I asked her out after a couple of phone conversations, and when we met up in person, I was surprised to discover that since our first meeting, she had completely shaved her head.

I asked her, "Why did you shave off your hair?"

She replied, "My friend Ron said he'd pay me $500 to shave it off my head and then eat some of it."

She read the expression on my face, then finished with, "So dinner's on me, tonight."

It was a nice gesture, and I thanked her for it, but insisted on at least paying for myself. It seemed like the polite thing to do. She refused, and I quickly shifted us to another topic.

When the bill came, as she had promised, she handed her card right to the waiter, who left with it. Then, she said, "That was a good dinner."

I replied, "I'd think that anything would be, after eating hair."

She said, "I puked up a lot of it. It was bad," and then laughed. I laughed, too.

I didn't ask her out again.

What Too Much Soda Does to You

Profile Sent in by Rudy:

About me:

Do not read any further but do not stop reading... I have made rituals about this site... perhaps you. Wing here is part of them.

I have a cousin. His name is Noodle. He told me about this site when we sat upstairs at his house one winter with no heat. I am a christian. I like the smell of pine trees but not as an air freshener. I work in operations for a soda company. No I cannot get you free soda.

Pile Driver

Story Sent in by Mae-Lynn:

Patrick and I had spoken online for a couple of weeks before he asked me out to dinner. He was from a couple of towns away from me, and he offered to pick me up at my house. I wasn't entirely comfortable with giving away where I lived so soon, so I asked him if he'd pick me up from a square in the center of town. He did, and off we went towards an agreed-upon restaurant, not too far off.

In the car, we caught up over a few minutes and he mentioned that he was in the midst of some sort of argument with his father about a loan. He seemed to want to talk about it, so I asked him for more details.

He was silent in response to my query. A deserted construction site was coming up on the right, complete with a big pile of dirt, taller than I was.

He shouted, "Nobody's going to get past me!" and drove us right into the dirt pile. It was low speed, but it was still a shock. The dirt stopped us short; his car was angled a little less than halfway up the pile.

My heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't even say anything that I wanted to. He looked out his windshield for a few moments, then turned to me. "Oops," he said, "You okay?"

"Why… why did you do that?" I managed to stammer out.

He didn't answer, but he threw the car into reverse, kicked up a huge cloud of dirt, and backed us into the street, almost right into a tractor-trailer.

It honked and slammed on its brakes. Patrick said, "Whoops!" and drove us onto the shoulder again, just in time.

I leaped out of the car, ran back towards home, and never looked back. I took several side streets and even hid behind a couple of houses, just in case he tried to follow me.

He never called or wrote me after that incident. He must have realized that nearly killing someone isn't a great way to impress them.

And My Foot Would Love to Meet Your Face

Email Sent in by Emelda:

Hey nivce profile. Are you available?

I like to work out, make money, and hity the gym. What could we do for our first date together.

There is an important knife I want to introduce you to. It was used in the war. It is at my house at 80 salem ave.

Joey

Season's Beatings

Story Sent in by Arthur:

Kyla and I were friends in college. She and I would hang out a couple of nights each week (platonically), and she set me up with her relatively new friend, Liz. Liz and I came from the same state, and that was about all we had in common.

I took Liz out to dinner, she had her headphones on almost the entire time, and seemed more interested in spinning her plate around than in having a conversation with me. I finally figured that she just went out with me as some sort of favor to Kyla, and that once the date was over, I'd never see or hear from her again.

I didn't hear from Kyla for about a week after that, despite my efforts to contact her. That was unusual, but I guessed that she was busy with school.

When she did reach out to me, we met up in person in the student union at her request, and she told me, "Liz said you were really nasty to her on the date. Like, abusive. She said that you acted really arrogant and that you also said some nasty, personal things about me that I'd rather not repeat."

I was shocked, then assured Kyla that nothing of the sort had happened, and that Liz had barely said a word to me the entire time.

Kyla replied, "Well, I don't know why she'd make it up. We hung out almost every night this week and she told me more and more details."

It dawned on me that Liz was very likely trying to keep Kyla away from me for whatever reason. I suggested to Kyla, "Tell Liz that you and I hung out today and that you had a great time. Don't tell her that we talked about my date with her. Say that you avoided the subject."

Kyla asked, "Why would I do that?"

I said, "First of all, you know me better than to give any credence to what Liz said. Secondly, I think that Liz made all of that up to get you away from me. Bottom line, it's about proving to you which of us is telling the truth. If I'm right, Liz might try something else."

Sure enough, not two hours after Kyla and I parted ways, I received a call from Liz. She sounded happy to speak with me and didn't mention a word about Kyla. She made awkward small talk, then asked what I was up to that evening. We made a date.

She rushed through dinner as if her life depended on it, then suggested that we walk through campus. As we did, she led me further and further away from populated areas. Once we were behind one of the libraries, a deserted space, she turned to me, clenched her fist, and…

…punched herself. Hard. In the face. Then she punched her chest, and then her face a few more times.

"What the hell?" I asked her, once she had finally stopped and was gasping.

She replied with a sly grin, then ran off.

A half-hour later, Kyla called me to say that Liz had arrived, crying at her dorm room, and had said that I had beaten her.

I said, "Then why hasn't she gone to campus police? Insist that she go. If she's telling the truth, then she has every reason to do that."

Kyla said that she'd call me back.

Over an hour later, she did. She said that right after she had gotten off the phone with me, she had told Liz to go to campus police. Liz refused repeatedly until she finally broke down and confessed that she had punched herself, had a crush on Kyla, and that she didn't want me in the picture.

Liz had left Kyla's shortly thereafter, and then Kyla herself had called campus police to report the situation, and to protect me just in case Liz made a claim. Kyla said that she wanted to call Liz and try to help her through it, but I advised her against any sort of contact with her.

Kyla and I are still friends. Kyla and Liz, as far as I know, are not.

Have You the Wing?

Email Sent in by Stephen:

Dear Stephen:

I am so appreciative of you taking me out last Sunday. I don't mean to come across the wrong way but I really really like you a lot and I think I could easily see a future between us.

This might be a strange question, and I understand if you don't think it's a good idea just yet, but I have to admit that I'm curious: do you think it would be a good idea to get married? As in you and I, this week? Unusual, yes! But let me explain: I don't have a lot of time left before menopause and I don't remember being this excited about someone in a long time. Remember back when arranged marriages were the norm? Couples knew even less about each other than you and I do now, and yet many of them had long lifetimes together!

I want you to give it some careful thought and let me know. Really think about it. Call me if you like to talk about it. We're a really good fit and I think we should seriously consider it.

Rosie


***************************************
(Stephen says: "She was 24. She wrote this after our first date.")

Time to Wrap it Up

Story Sent in by Pearl:

Bruce wrote to me online, and his mind moved a million miles an hour. He seemed interested in everything I said and came across as very engaging. He invited me out for a date, and I asked him in an email, "What would you like to do?"

He replied back, "I have some great plans. Surprise plans. Enormous surprise plans. You will experience them soon."

He was different from anyone I had encountered online before and it had been a bit since I had gone out on any sort of date. He was coy about details, but I was excited to meet him.

He asked me to meet him at a particular tree in a town park. He was already there when I arrived. He produced a long yellow ribbon and a pushpin, then attached an end of the ribbon to the tree and took up the other end.

"It's May Day!" he said, "Help me tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old birch tree."

I looked at the pushpin in the tree and said, "I don't think that's good for the tree."

He asked, "Are you going to help me here, or not?"

He walked around the tree a few times, wrapping the ribbon around it, and humming Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree. Once he was done, he looked at me, as if for approval. I said, "Great. What's next?"

He said, "What do you mean? That's all I had. Your turn to come up with something."

I glanced at the ribbon-wrapped tree, then back at Bruce. I said, "Um, okay. Dinner?"

He stuck his tongue out at me and said, "Dumb! Next?"

"You aren't hungry?" It was right around dinnertime.

He said, "Not for food. Next?"

"Want to take a walk?"

"Dumb! Next?"

"A movie? Mini-golf? Bowling?"

"All stupid! Next?"

"Then you tell me what you think isn't stupid."

In answer, he unwrapped the ribbon from the tree, pushed the pin further in, then whistled Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round to Old Oak Tree again as he wrapped it, once more, around the tree.

"Bruce, I don't really get what you're doing."

He said, "I want you to suggest something different. That's all."

I suggested, "Okay, let's hop on one leg in a circle."

He said, "No, that's too different. Something I'd feel comfortable doing."

"What are my limits?"

He said, "I'm not going to tell you. You have to figure them out, yourself."

I said, "I'm a little tired of this, and I came out tonight to get to know you better. Can we talk over dinner so that maybe I can have a better idea for next time?"

"No time like the present," he said, then repeated, "No time like the present." He took the ribbon off the tree and tore it away from the pushpin that he left in there. He then wrapped the ribbon around me lightly and made a bow. "See? You're a present. No time like the present!"

I took the bow off of myself and handed it to him. "Thanks!" he said.

"Bruce, I'm going to dinner. You can come with me if you want."

"You still don't get it," he said.

"What don't I get?" I asked.

He reattached the ribbon to the tree, then once again whistled the Tie a Yellow Ribbon song as he wrapped the ribbon around it.

I stepped away and said, "Call me if you want to do dinner."

"I do want to do dinner," he said sadly, "But you just don't get it."

He unwrapped then re-wrapped the tree once more before I gave up on him and left to grab takeout Chinese. He never contacted me after that, and I sure wasn't going to reach out to him. Not long after that, though, I was back through the same park (on another date) and found that Bruce had left the pushpin in the tree. I pulled it out and tossed it in the trash.

And They Replaced My Brain with Tasty Feta

Profile Sent in by Beverly:

About me:

I suppose this is for the best. I was abducted by aliens when I was younger. They put three implants in me, two of which I had removed, they are made of metals we have never seen before. They told me that they came back in time to stop Shakespeare. That's all I remember.

It changed my outlook on things. Now I exist to spread peace and love. Hopefully some will drain out into you. I don't mean that in a sexual way although you should know that human beings are sexual animals. The aliens didn't tell me that though!

Practice Makes Perfecter

Story Sent in by Donald:

One evening, Helen and I were on our first date, walking on a hillside boardwalk that ran alongside a local beach. It was just after sunset: warm and breezy. She let her hair down, and it was a beautiful moment. I'm not sure why I liked her so much and so soon, but that's how I felt.

As we walked, she turned to the walkway's wooden railing, the side that faced the beach, and she slid under it to land on the beach itself. She turned back to me, tapped my foot through the railing, and asked, "You coming?"

I ducked down and lowered myself to her level. The walkway was sandy and had some muddy patches, so I used one of my hands to push myself up from the boards and another to hang from the railing. I leaned towards her and we shared a kiss.

It was a moment right out of a storybook. No one else was close by. What a terrific first da–

My lower arm involuntarily buckled, sending me off of her mouth and right to the boardwalk. I slammed down on it, then scrambled up, slid through the railing, and stood with her on the beach. "Sorry," I said, a bit ashamed to have ruined our first kiss.

I had expected her to laugh, or to at least be some sort of okay with it. "This isn't going to work," she said, "This isn't how I pictured it."

"Pictured it? What are you talking about?"

"That was our first kiss? I'm sorry. I can't be stuck long term to a guy who messes something that simple up."

"Are you serious? We can forget that one. Should we try another?"

She opened her mouth and looked aghast, like I had asked if I could have sex with her sister. She said, "When Morton, Pippa, and Alexander ask me how our first kiss went, I'm supposed to tell them, 'well, he was a clumsy oaf'?"

"Those your friends?"

"My kids."

My turn to be shocked. She had never mentioned children. "You have kids?"

"No, you idiot. My future kids! They'll ask me how our first date went and I wouldn't know what to tell them."

I said, "You'd tell them, 'Dad was charming and awkward,' in any case, but why are you even talking about your future kids on a first date?"

"It's all planned," she said, "And I don't feel comfortable with you being part of the plan, anymore. I want to be alone, now."

I stared, hoping that she was playing an elaborate trick. She pointed at the beach, over my shoulder. She said, "You can walk down the beach that way. Good way to end it. I'm sorry. That just can't be my memory of a first kiss. If it was meant to be, it would've been perfecter."

"Perfecter?"

"The beach is that way."

Sad to see a once-pleasant evening dissolve into a puddle of crazy, I left her alone and took a walk down the beach. I thought that perhaps she needed some time to cool down, and at least we could talk about it a bit after a little while.

When I returned to the incident site at the boardwalk, she was gone. I looked up and down the beach. It was dark, and I didn't see a sign of anyone.

Upon return to my car (we had driven separately), I discovered a short pile of sticks and twigs encircling it, and it hadn't been there when I had parked. I guessed that Helen had done it, and I don't know what it meant to convey, but I climbed back into my car, drove over it, and went home. My theory is that she had done it as a way to symbolically "wall me off." I'll likely never know.

Dishonor Thy Father

Profile Sent in by Robert:

About me:

I like having a good time wherever. Out with friends? A night in? Meeting your parents? Doesn't matter. I'm always up for a good time.

My exes dad flirted with me waaay much and one day we were working on a car together and he put his hand where it didn't belong. I let him feel a bit but then I got him in huge trouble and wrecked his marriage, ha! They're still married but in couples counseling for the long haul. My ex became my ex because of that. Sorry but I wasn't going to keep my mouth shut. No apologies and living my life! Not yours, not your dad's no one else! Want to touch me, dad? NO GET YOUR HANDS OFF AND I WILL REPORT YOU TO GOD HIMSELF.

I Cup?

Story Sent in by Taryn:

Jason and I were out to dinner on our first date. He liked to tease, and I was equal to it. Our good-natured ribbing hit the common "men vs. women" denominator, and he hit me with the predictable, "Men can pee standing up. Case closed."

Not content to concede even a little, I said, "Some women have mastered that."

He laughed. "Have you?"

I lied, "Yes. It's a weird sort of squat, but–"

"You lie!" he said, "There's no possible way, at least not without considerable external help."

"I can do it. So there."

"Show me."

I snorted, confident that he was joking. "You wish," I said.

"No, really. It'll be just for proof. I won't touch you or watch you take a dump or anything. But if you say you can do it, you should be able to prove it."

"Seriously? No."

He grinned. "Then you're obviously full of it."

I said, "Okay, moving on…"

"Seriously. I want to see you prove it."

"Can we talk about something else?"

He sighed. "What do you want to talk about?"

I asked, "What are you going to be up to, next week?"

"Not watching you pee, obviously," he said.

"Drop it, Jason. I'm serious. I'm not going to let you watch."

"You make it sound so dirty," he said, "I have nothing but pure intentions. I swear I won't touch you. I just want to see you put your money where your mouth is."

I shrugged. "Sorry."

He replied, "You should be. All I want to do is see you prove a claim. You make it sound like I'm a sex offender."

I said, "Drop it or I walk."

"Oh yeah?" he leaned in, "Prove it."

I did. Lucky for both of us, he had the presence of mind to not follow me out. I was trembling with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

That night, wonder of wonders, an email arrived from him. He wrote, "Can you explain to me what exactly the problem was? I'm having some trouble figuring it out."

I must have written about a dozen potential responses, but I ended up not sending him anything. If he didn't get it while it was happening, he sure wouldn't get it based on anything I could've written to him.

Sometimes, Being a Life-Long Bachelor Is Not a Choice

Email Sent in by Julie:

Hi, again!

We went on a date back in september, now it's a new year, new me! Not sure why I didn't hear from you but I'm back and better than ever!

I have a new job (pays good) and I'm looking for a place to live. Maybe I could come live with you! Just kidding. If you know of a place or of someone looking for a roommate (more roommates mean less rent for all involved:) then let me know.

We can go out again if you want. Sorry if I scared you away. I'm not a scary guy LOL. Let me give you another chance. I have guy friends who stalk, cheat, and who go after women who turn them down. Not me, though… at least, not unless you give me reason to LOL.

All honesty: you have no reason to not write me back. Hey you have nothing to lose so if you don't then I'll think you're an idiot but I guess I can keep writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and writing until I get a response. I have nothing to lose and you have everything to gain. I look forward to seeing you soon! Write me back (or call, I think you still have my number) and don't forget to write me back.

Casey

Surp-rice!

Story Sent in by David:

I arrived early at Natalie's house to pick her up for our first date. She lived with her parents and younger brothers. Her mother let me into the house, and I spoke with her as I waited for Natalie to come downstairs.

I hadn't been there five minutes when a horrific shriek came from upstairs. Natalie's mother ran halfway up the stairs and yelled, "Nat? What is it?"

Natalie's voice shouted down, "That piece of garbage! I hate him! Where is he?"

She stomped downstairs, shoving past her mother. Natalie was in a nice outfit, but her face was all business. Murderous business, from the looks of it. She looked at me, then without a word, stormed into what I guessed was the kitchen.

I heard her say, "There you are, you asshole!" There was a shout, the sound of crashing furniture, a door opening, running feet, and a door slamming shut. Then, silence. Natalie had apparently chased someone out of the house.

I exchanged looks with Natalie's mother, who had frozen on the stairs. She then went upstairs herself while I remained in the living room. A moment later, I heard her say, "Oh, Ben…"

She came downstairs, carrying a black pair of women's dress shoes. They were filled with gloppy white rice, and she showed them to me. She said, "That's Ben for you. Our youngest. Nat was probably planning to wear these tonight."

She carried them past me and opened her front door, presumably to empty them outside.

"Wait," I said, and she stopped. "May I?" I reached for the shoes.

She maintained a hold on them. "What did you have in mind?"

I replied, "Pouring the rice into Ben's bed."

I was expecting a fast no, so I followed it up with, "Nat looked really mad. I think this would cheer her up." Natalie's mother laughed and handed me the shoes. She said, "Second door on the left."

I took the stairs two at a time, followed Natalie's mother's directions, emptied as much of the rice under Ben's covers as possible, then ran back downstairs with the shoes and handed them back to Natalie's mother. She warned me with a smile, "I'm going to have to tell him that it was your idea. He'll want revenge."

I shrugged. "Let him try."

Natalie eventually returned without Ben. She apologized to me dozens of times, went upstairs to grab a different pair of shoes, and then we were finally ready to go out together.

On our way to dinner, I told her what I had done, and that I would take full blame for it, so that hopefully, Ben wouldn't retaliate against her. She laughed, said that she could never get away with something like that, and we had a great time despite our initial face-to-face encounter.

When we returned to her house, she kissed me goodbye on the cheek, promised that she'd tell me how things went once she made it back inside, and said that she wanted to see me again. I was excited, and it was certainly an unexpected sort of evening.

She wrote me a long email that I received the next morning. In it, she explained a bit about Ben's emotional problems, and that while he was usually harmless, she had returned that night to a trashed room. She retaliated by attempting to strangle him, and it had apparently taken both of her parents to separate them from each other.

One of the last lines of her email was, "It might be best if we waited a little bit for date #2."

I opted to postpone it indefinitely.

One More Year and I Would Have Made it to Cincinnati

Profile Sent in by Ellen:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I'm sort of the black sheep in my family. I would spend a lot of time in the basement growing up but not doing anything dumb like videogames on the computer for so many hours. I would pretend to dig up dead realatives! We had a dirt floor and I always covered it with a blanket and I dug for three years going until my father found it and made me fill it back in over night. My dad and I don't get along now and I can trace it back to that as a result.

Strange Place to Bury a Bone

Story Sent in by Anthony:

Lisa and I met in college and had already had one successful date. I asked her out again, and I took her out to a play and then dinner. From my point of view, everything was going well and nothing at all was amiss.

At the time, I lived off-campus in a house with two friends. Lisa hadn't ever been there, but at the end of our second date, I asked her if she'd want to go on a hike for that coming weekend. She said she was up for it, and so I told her my address so that we could meet there and depart together for the trail. We said our good-nights, and I looked forward to our third time out together.

That night, when I came back into the house, both of my housemates were already home, inside their rooms in the otherwise dark house. After staying up a little while longer, I went to bed.

I was close to sleep when I sat up with a start. Someone had just opened the front door of the house. My roommates and I were home, so my first thoughts were, "Whats the landlord doing here at this time of night, and without calling any of us first?"

I opened the door to my bedroom and looked out in the dark hall. No one was there, but I crept my way into the living room, where I heard someone stepping around, slowly, in the dark. On my way through the kitchen, I picked up a wine bottle to use as a weapon, just in case. To be honest, though, I was shaking.

I peeped into the living room. Someone stood with their back to me, right in the middle of the room, with their hands on their hips. Someone with long hair.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. The figure made for the door in a hurry, and on her way there, she barked, like a dog. "Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!" with every step she took. When the door opened, I saw, without a doubt, that it was Lisa.

I followed her out and stopped her before she was out of our front yard.

"Lisa!" I called, and tapped her on the shoulder.

She stopped, spun to me, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I should ask you that. What were you doing in my house? How did you get in?"

She started, "I just… okay, I'm sorry. I think we should just be friends."

Without missing a beat, I said, "Agreed. Answer my questions."

"Goodbye," she said, and hurried down the street fast enough to imply that she didn't want to be followed. I took a few steps after her, called for her to stop, and gave up, realizing that it wasn't worth it at all.

The next day, I told my roommates, and we invested in new locks. We had only ever used the doorknob lock, which was stupid. After that, we didn't have any further break-ins, and I never encountered Lisa again.

Who Says Guys Aren't Sensitive?

Email Sent in by Barbara:

(Barbara says: "I had written in my profile that a friend's death had given me a new way of looking at things. Then, I received this:")
******************************************


I see u play guitar. Thats cool. I play sex. Thats also cool. Maybe we could meet up and play each others instruments if u know what I mean.

I'm John and I guess u can call me a jack of all trades ha! I've been in bands up and down the coast but now I want to settle down. Tonight if possible. No time like the present and I live each day like it was my last…….

Sorry to hear about ur dead friend. He wouldn't want u to grieve. He'd want u to live life to the fullest with me in my bedroom together all night long! I can fill the missing hole in u…… heh.

Let me know when I can come by. U don't need to write something big back.

John

Living on a Sprayer

Story Sent in by Jo:

For our first date, Carl took me to a hotel restaurant and then we took a walk to the enclosed atrium, just past the lobby. Dinner had gone well, and I thought that he was a decent guy. We sat down next to each other, talked for a bit, and then he leaned over and kissed me. I didn't pull away, and it was short and bashful, on his part.

When it was over, he stood up, stretched, and said, "Want to book a room here?"

I hadn't expected that question, and I replied, "Maybe not tonight."

He said, "Well, we should commemorate this, somehow."

It had never occurred to me to commemorate something I had just did, and so I had nothing to say as he looked at me expectantly. He said, "I've got it. Follow me."

I walked with him, out of the hotel, and towards a row of nearby stores across the street. What should have clued me in to the fact that something unpleasant was about to happen was his repeated statement, "I've never done anything like this before… I sure hope it works."

He walked us to a hardware store, purchased a can of red spray paint (apparently you have to show your ID to buy spray paint - I never knew), and led me back to the hotel.

Finally, I thought it prudent to pipe up, "What is it you have in mind?"

He said, "I've never done anything like this before… I sure hope it works."

I stopped walking. "Tell me what you're doing."

He said, "We're going back to the atrium. Nothing bad or anything that will hurt you."

"What are we going to do there?"

"Um…" He looked at the spray paint, then at me, then back at the spray paint, and then at me again. I couldn't put the pieces together.

I helped him. "Are we going to spray paint something?"

He said, "Yeah… well, maybe. I just thought it would be cool to get our names or our initials near that bench."

"Oh," I said, comprehending, "Absolutely not."

"What? Why not?"

I explained, "You're talking about defacing private property. I–no. Are you serious?"

He shrugged and said, "I figured it would be smart to do it near where our first kiss actually happened, but I'm all ears if you know of a better place."

I said, "No place. No spray painting of anything. Just the memory wouldn't be enough for you?"

He took a moment, then said, "Why don't you ask George Washington? Mount Rushmore, the Washington Monument, Washington D.C., the Statue of Liberty… half the stuff in the country commemorates him. You're telling me that we shouldn't commemorate important occasions?"

I said, "But those are all legal."

He replied, "And you think Mount Rushmore was legal when it was first made? The guy defaced a whole mountain, and it's art. I want to put some paint down near a bench, and that's wrong? Why does goddamn Washington deserve a million statues and we can't even get a line of paint?"

"Because Washington was a war leader. We just kissed."

"Just kissed?" he said, raising his voice a bit.

"I'm going to go," I said, "Maybe we can catch up again some other time." That was a lie. I had no intent of ever seeing him again.

He replied, "I can't believe you just said that. You must have a really low opinion of yourself."

"Yup. Bye," I said, and hurried back towards the hotel, as my car was parked there.

Carl hurried on in my direction, but he didn't walk with me. He kept going, almost running back towards the hotel, and once he made it there, he entered within. I don't know if he ended up spray painting anything, but I made it away from there before any further encounters.

"Please Have Long and Shapely Tusks"

Profile Sent in by Sylvester:

(Sylvester says: "I thought it was a coincidence that all three photos on her profile were of her in various walrus shirts and sweatshirts. Then I read…")
**********************************

About me:

Walruses. Seriously. I did a report on them in high school (don't laugh: it was 21 pages long!) and ever since I have loved them. My spirit animal totem symbol emblem is a walrus and this also bleeds a bit into my religions beliefs. I want to let out my inner walrus. This is a personal motto and not meant as a joke.

Walruses are beautiful and are the only speices along with humans that have an innate appreciation for nature. Zoological studies have shown that walruses have a great outlook on life. I could go on for hours about it, and love talking about them, so write me if you want to know more. Serious inquiries only, please. I'm tired of getting walrus joke messages.

Telephony

Story Sent in by Scott:

Erica and I arranged to meet outside of a cafe on our first date. I arrived about a minute before our meeting time, parked my car, and hurried along the sidewalk to the place, right around a corner.

As I approached the corner, I heard the sound of a young woman with a loud voice. I continued on and found that the voice belonged to Erica herself: she sat on a bench right in front of the cafe, seemingly talking to herself. She said, "Yes, Steve, I agree, that was a lot of fun Steve. I'm so glad that we're still friends, Steve."

I gave her a funny look, then she saw me. "Oh!" she said, "I'll call you back, Steve."

That explained it. A wireless headset. That I couldn't see.

She reached into her pocket, apparently hit a button, and said to me, "Sorry. My Bluetooth."

It was all good. We introduced each other, then went inside. The place was known for its desserts, and that's what we ordered. We had a good conversation for several minutes, and I had just asked her, "What sort of articles did you write for your college paper?" when she said,

"Hello? Hi, Herman."

"What?"

She took her hand, which had been under the table, and held her pointer finger up, then looked up and away, the universal look of someone on the phone. Her phone must have rang and she had activated her wireless headset by answering the call in her pocket. I still couldn't see her headset, though. Must have been tiny.

She went on, "I'd love to right now, but I'm out on a date. Yes. Maybe later on. We'll see. Okay, thanks, Herman." She clicked the button in her pocket.

I suggested, "Maybe silencing the ring would be a good idea?"

She said, "I–" then clicked the button in her pocket again. "Hello?" she asked, exasperated, "Yes, hi Larry." She rolled her eyes at me. I sighed. She continued, "No, I can't meet up tonight. Maybe later this week. I'm on another date now. Okay. Bye."

She hung up. "You're awfully popular," I said.

She groaned, "I know. I'm booked solid."

I asked, "Can I see your headset?"

She froze. "What?"

I said, "Your headset. I'm not going to do anything with it, but I've never heard of one so small. I can't even see it. May I?"

"No," she said.

"Why not?"

She laughed, "Because, I… it's… I'm not going to show you my headset."

"Why not?"

"It's a… I'm… my headset… it's a first date!" she finished, explaining absolutely nothing.

"And showing me your headset is too personal?"

She breathed faster. Then, she said, "Yes? Hi… uh… Mom," then said to me, "Excuse me, I have to take this. Be right back," and she excused herself from the table.

What was truly fascinating about that call was that Erica didn't hit the button in her pocket to accept the call. It just picked up, apparently, by itself, in her ear.

When she came back, she said, "Look, I have to go. I'm sorry. We can… here," she tossed a $10 bill on the table, "Yeah, I have to go now. Bye!" She left me there. She and her invisible, nonexistent headset.

Must Run in the Family

Emails Sent in by Chris:

Dear Chris:

Thanks for your e-mail. I checked out your profile and you seem more illiterate than my stupid 6-year-old nephew. Don't get me wrong, I love him and everything. He's just stupider than birch bark.

Thanks anyway!

Marci


********************************
Chris Responds:

Marci,

Every word was spelled right on my profile and my sentences were grammatically correct. What the hell are you talking about?

Chris


********************************
Marci Responds:

Chris, I am SO SORRY: I read your e-mail, clicked on another person's profile link, thought it was yours, and responded in kind. My bad.

Unfortunately, that other profile will forever be associated with you. I can't now think of you as anything other than an illiterate buffoon who doesn't know his ass from the sun around which we all rotate. I'm sorry but morons have their price and this time one of them took you out. Maybe next time!

Marci


********************************
Chris Responds:

Marci,

We revolve around the sun. We don't rotate around it.

Chris


********************************
Marci Responds:

F**k you, Chris. You illiterate, sanctimonius astronomy-wearing bastard suck monkey d**kass!


********************************
Chris Responds:

Marci,

You spelled "sanctimonious" wrong.

Chris

Occupy Idiocy

Story Sent in by Mary:

Jeffrey and I met online. He and I worked in the same industry, and it was that plus his friendly attitude that enticed me out on a date with him.

He wasn't a good date at all. It was obvious that his favorite topic was himself, and he told me the same story, how he had found his first job out of college, three times.

I had walked to the restaurant, as it was only a mile away from where I lived, and it was a nice night out. I was anxious to bring the date to a close, but once we were done, he insisted on driving me home. I thought, "Just let him do it and that will be it." In retrospect, I should've been smarter and just walked home.

He parked his car in front of my house and walked me to the front porch. I had a feeling that he'd go for a kiss, so I planned to give him a quick hug and hurry inside.

"Thanks for dinner," I told him as I made for the door handle.

"Just a second," he said, and as I guessed he would, he went for me with his lips. I dodged away and hugged him fast, then slid my key into the lock.

He asked, "That's it?"

"On a first date, yes."

"And here I was, wondering if we'd mate."

"No," I said, opening the door, "Good night."

I closed and locked the door behind me, silently cursed myself several times for letting him drive me home, and finally went to bed.

The next morning, I stepped out of my front door in the morning to check for mail when I received a horrific surprise.

Jeffrey's feet poked out of a blue plastic tarp, stretched out on the porch.

I screamed. He sat up, still covered in the tarp, then pulled off of himself to reveal his face. He had slept on my porch all night!

"Good morning," he said as if turning to his lover in bed, "I found this tarp out back. Hope you don't mind if I used it as a blanket. Can I use your bathroom?"

"Absolutely not," I heard myself say, "Get off my porch right now or needing a toilet will be the least of your problems."

He rolled his eyes, tore the rest of the tarp off of himself, stood, stretched, and said, "First you won't mate with me, and then you won't let me use your bathroom. This is the weirdest overnight I've ever had with a girl."

"Get out," I said, "You need to leave."

Without another word, he scuffed along, off of my porch, dragged himself into his car, and pulled away. I went to clear off the tarp, but it smelled awful and so I ended up stuffing it into a trash bag and throwing it away.

An email arrived from him a little less than a week later: "Two day rule? Who knows? Want to go out again?"

I'd rather kiss a Wookiee.

Statement or Threat?

Profile Sent in by Brad:

Who I'm looking for:

My favorite flowers are tulips, my favorite chocolates are from godiva and I looooooove Bobby Darin music. Just a few hints in case you decide to message me ;)

Of course you can be a cheap dweeb and not show up with any of that, but if you come to a date with me with all of those (it happened once) and that one time the guy became my boyfriend of four years. It doesn't take much for me to say no or yes and I just handed you a key. Just don't be psycho, please? Tulips, chocolate, Darin. Say it with me: tulips, chocolate, Darin! Tulips, chocolate, Darin! Tulips, chocolate, Darin!

'Ol Meat Lap

Story Sent in by Jillian:

Pete invited me out to dinner at the fanciest place I had ever seen. There were five forks at each place setting.

When we sat down, a waiter and wine steward attended to us immediately. It wasn't at all what I was used to, but it was nice to be there, I won't lie.

After the waitstaff left, he nudged me and asked, "You been here before?"

"No."

"I have. The food's shit. And the portions are small. Here," he reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out two flattened Burger King hamburgers.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"I bought them. For us. With my money. For you and me." He placed one of the burgers on my lap, like he was a secret agent.

"Take it back," I said.

"Why?"

"First of all, I'm not about to eat fast food in a place like this. Second of all, I know I've mentioned that I'm vegetarian. I appreciate the thought, but—"

I stopped because he chose that moment to engulf, to inhale, his burger. It took him no longer than five seconds to devour the entire thing. Once he was done, he looked me in the eyes, glanced down at my lap, then grabbed the other burger, unwrapped it, and slipped the whole thing into his mouth, just as fast.

"Mmm," he said, swallowing it all down, "More for me!" and he gave me a wink.

I ordered mushroom and squash ravioli, he ordered filet mignon. When it was delivered to the table, he pointed at mine and said, "See? What did I tell you? Small portions." I thought that my portion was well-sized. He helped himself to a forkful of my ravioli before I was able to slide my plate away from him.

In the middle of a silence (and they were numerous), he ripped out such a loud fart that someone at a nearby table took notice.

Finally, the check came. He asked, "Would I be asking too much if I asked you to cover this? Seeing as how I got the burgers and all."

"That would be asking too much, yes," I replied.

"Fuck," he said, then dug into his pockets for his wallet, "I guess this is our last date, then."

Sweeter music, my ears had never heard.

That Hard to Find, Eh?

Email Sent in by Nancy:

My hand was in my pants when I read your profile. When I wrote this message, my hand was still in my pants. When you read this, my hand will likely still be in my pants.

If you have a profile on this site, by definition, your hand is likely also in your pants. DO NOT DENY IT! THIS IS IMPORTANT - we should warm our hands near a flame together and then slide them down each other's pants and manipulate our pleasure buttons. WHY DON'T MORE WOMEN GET THIS? IF YOU WANT SEX TAKE IT! IT'S YOURS! IMMORTALITY!

Patrick

Doesn't Always Make Mouths Happy

Story Sent in by Keith:

I found Andrea's profile online and discovered, upon reading it, that she had an affinity for Twizzlers. I contacted her, and apparently charmed her enough over the course of a week and a half to convince her to say yes when I asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner.

Once we sat down, I pulled out a small pack of Twizzlers from my pocket that I had picked up on the way. From my point of view, it was a nice gesture. Honestly, nothing more than that.

Her eyes went wider than I'd ever seen a human's eyes go before. She didn't take the Twizzlers. "Twizzlers?" she asked, "How did you… how did you know I liked Twizzlers?"

"It was on your profile. You wrote–"

She said, gravely, "How did you know I like Twizzlers?"

I hesitated, then answered, again, "It was on your profile. You wrote it on there."

The longest pause, then she said, "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. It was on your profile."

"I never wrote that. Have you been checking up behind my back? Were you doing searches on me? I mean–"

"No!" I said, more and more upset, "No, no! It's honest-to-goodness on your profile. Let me pull it up, here. I'll show you." I was still convinced that it was a silly misunderstanding.

Without another word, Andrea stood up and left me there, just like that. I let her go, as she seemed extremely freaked out. Sure enough, though, I pointed my browser to her profile and pulled it up. I even took a screen grab of it, and then I texted her, "I'm looking at your profile right now. It says that you're a huge Twizzlers fan. This is a misunderstanding. Please come back."

She didn't. When I returned home that night, I checked out her profile again. The Twizzlers line was gone. I emailed her a blank message, but included my screen grab along with it.

Surprisingly, she wrote back, "You obviously photo shopped that."

I wrote back, "And you're obviously a liar." Not surprisingly, I never heard from her again.

All at the Same Time

Profile Sent in by Michelle:

The six things I could never do without:

1. You
2. A bedroom
3. A priest
4. A baby carriage
5. A wheelchair
6. Freshly cleaned bowels are after a high colonic treatment, pref. before bed

Agreed on Abercrombie

Story Sent in by Phil:

About 15 minutes into my date with Grace (we met during the winter at a sprawling mall about halfway between our houses), I noticed that she had a peculiar habit.

We walked past a Build-a-Bear workshop and the line was out the door, likely due to a birthday party. She commented, "Look at that. A real human tragedy."

I smiled, as I thought she was commenting on capitalism. As we walked on, though, it appeared as though something different was going on. We walked past a Limited Too store, and she said, "Stores like this are a real human tragedy."

Same when we walked by an Abercrombie: "This place is a human tragedy," and once again when we walked past a jewelry retailer, "This is all just a human tragedy."

Hoping to lighten things up, I took her to a restaurant. Once we were seated, she looked around at the wood paneling decor and said, "The decor is just a human tragedy."

The waitress served us waters. Grace took a sip. "This water tastes like a human tragedy." Our food was served. She had ordered a wrap: "This wrap is a human tragedy."

I asked, "Is everything a human tragedy?"

She looked genuinely hurt. "How could you ask that?"

I replied, "You've been saying it about everything."

"No, I haven't. Anyway, it's probably just the mall. It can make you crazy, you know?" I didn't, so I waited for her to continue. "I mean, as long as you're in here, you're breathing in the oxygen that they pump in for you. Who knows what's in it? It's a human tragedy."

I took my obligatory moment to process, then replied, "That makes sense."

"Thank God," she said, "Thank God for that."

She then took a few more bites of her wrap and said, "I'm glad we stopped to eat, though. If I died, that would've been a real human tragedy."

I couldn't take much more of her, and so after dinner, I brought the date to a close. She hugged me goodbye and said, "Don't disappear, okay? If you did, it would be a real human tragedy."

I sent her an email, out of politeness, to let her know that I thought we'd be better off as friends. She wrote back, and her subject line, I swear, was "Human Tragedies:"

"Dear Phil: I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose none of us are immune to our very own human tragedies. Be well and avoid dire pits."

I… will.

BUT I STILL HIT SEND. LOL.

Email Sent in by Lawrence:

HEY BABY. U R 2 CUTER! AN ANGELL FELL 2 EARTH AND SHE WAS U. I LIKE UR PROFILE AND PROFILE PICS….. FEEL FREE 2 SEND ME MORE LOL. U AND I LIVE IN THE SAME TOWN…. HOW DO U LIKE LIVING IN THIS TOWN.

YOU ARE NOT A WOMAN Y AM I WRITING 2 U.

PATRICK

You Haven't Come a Long Way, Baby

Story Sent in by Patrice:

Terry and I met online, spoke for about two weeks, and then met in person. We were out to dinner when he asked me, "How many kids do you want?"

I said, "Probably one or two."

He stared. "Probably? It's the most important decision of your life, and you say 'probably'?"

I replied, "Well, then I guess I'm obviously not ready. I think I have to worry about other things, first."

He said, "But it's what you're working towards, isn't it? I mean, the sort of job you have now will have a direct effect on how many kids you end up having, from a financial perspective."

"I guess. I'm not worried about it."

He rolled his eyes and said, "Okay. After this, we're taking a detour somewhere. There's something I want you to see."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you."

"Where?"

"To a hospital nursery. I want to show you babies and demonstrate how much one can cost and how especially women have to be financially as well as emotionally ready for one or two or however many you have."

I laughed at him. "I don't think so. No hospital trips on a date, thank you."

He pulled out his phone and said, "Then I'll pull up some videos to show you exactly what you'll be dealing with."

I continued on with dinner as he waited about five minutes for a video to load over his phone. When it did, he shoved the footage in my face: newborn babies in a hospital nursery.

"Aww," I said, "They're so little!"

"So's your brain, if that's all you think about when you see them," he said, "A baby is a serious financial and emotional–"

"Can we get the check?"

"In a moment. I'm–"

"Now. Right now."

He stood up, walked away, and came back a few moments later. "I asked our waiter for the check. I suppose you expect me to pay for this."

"That would be nice, since you just insulted me, but I certainly don't expect it."

"Shows what you know. I'm paying for everything."

"Okay. Thanks."

When the check came, he slipped in a few bills that took care of dinner and then some. He then stood up, said, "Goodnight," and left me there.

Waking Up in a Stranger's House

Story Sent in by Alan:

Camille and I had been on one date already. She offered to pick me up at my house for our second date. We had planned to go out to a dinner theatre production.

A full half hour before I was expecting her, the sound of a loud car horn blared from my front yard, and flashing white lights blinked over and over into the house. I looked out the window to see a car I didn't recognize parked on my front lawn, facing the house, its brights flicking on and off like a strobe.

I ran out of the house to find Camille sitting in the car, honking the horn and flashing the brights. She waved at me from inside the car. I knocked on her window and yelled, "Stop! Stop!"

She smacked her window twice with her palm, then gave me a big grin and rolled it down. The unmistakable smell of alcohol blasted out at me.

"Hi, Alan! Ready to go?" she asked, then laughed.

I said, "I have a better idea. Come in my house for a sec."

She came willingly, but she needed substantial support just to make it up my three front steps. How she had actually driven over in that condition without killing anyone will forever be a mystery to me. I parked her on my couch, put a blanket around her, turned off the lights, and she was out in less than five minutes.

The next morning, I kept checking on her. My room was on the second floor, and she left sometime in the early afternoon, though I'm not positive when. At some point, I looked out the window, and her car was gone. I checked downstairs, and she was no longer there. She must have woken up, wondered where the hell she was, and took off. I probably would've done the same thing. Never heard from her again.