Story Sent in by April:

Joe messaged me online, we spoke, and had a nice first dinner date. Afterward, we went our separate ways. I went back to my apartment and eventually went to bed.

In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly. Without even moving a muscle or looking around, I knew that something was wrong. I turned over and found Joe, in bed, beside me. He was asleep. My phone was on my bureau, which required me to slip out of bed to grab it.

As slowly as I could, I tugged the sheets off of myself, slipped across the room, grabbed my phone, made for my front door, and trembled as I hurried for the lobby and called the police.

A car arrived swiftly. I directed the officer to my apartment, and while I waited outside the door, I heard Joe say, "Aw, shit," and then I made for the nearby stairwell, as I realized that I didn't want him to see me.

After a few moments had passed, I returned to my place, and the cop eventually came back to take my statement before wishing me a good night. I must've thanked him a million times. There was no sleep in me at all, by that point, and I called out from work the next day.

It came out that Joe had followed me home and forced open the door, somehow without waking me up. I've since installed extra locks on the door and sleep with a bat nearby. I haven't since had any problems, but still, the entire experience unnerved me, and that's putting it lightly.

I suppose the best part is that Joe sent me an email some time later, a one-liner that read, "sorry bout that. look me up sometime." Yeah, I'll be sure to do that.

Story Sent in by Frank:

Lisa and I met online and I planned what I thought would be a fun first date, complete with dinner and a riverside walk to an annual event where people lit candles and put them on hundreds of little floats on the river. I'd been looking forward to it for a while.

A couple of hours before the date, Lisa called me and said, "Can we do something else?"

I didn't really want to do something else, but I asked her, "What did you have in mind?"

She replied, "Uh, that's your job to figure out."

I said, "But you don't want to see the candles in the river? Have you seen it before? It's beautiful."

She said, "You know what would be beautiful? A first date that doesn't take us to a stupid kiddie-playtime-Romper-Room event. That would be beautiful."

I replied, "But there are more adults there, usually, than children."

She said, "Figure something else out, or forget this whole thing. I'm serious."

I told her I'd call her back after I had thought of something, but honestly, there wasn't anything else that I really wanted to do. In fact, I was willing to postpone the date just to see the candles. As I said, I'd been looking forward to it, and Lisa's attitude wasn't helping me want to do anything else.

I called her back and said, "I really want to see the candles in the river, so maybe we can meet up after the event?"

She groaned, long and loud, into the phone, then said, "You're seriously going to go? I have to be honest, I can't really see myself wanting to go out with a guy who'd want to do that."

"I–"

"And you're basically saying that you'd rather go to the event alone than see me."

"Well–"

"That's kind of a loser thing to do."

I repeated, "I'd be glad to see you right afterward. We can meet up for a later dinner, or–"

"No. Forget it. Enjoy your stupid candles." She hung up on me.

I left a little while later to go enjoy my stupid candles. It was really lovely, starting right at sundown. A couple of hundred people showed up, and hundreds of candles were lit and floated into the river in the mostly cloudless evening.

As I walked along the shore, snapping photos and looking around for people I knew, I saw Lisa walking and laughing with another guy. She and I hadn't met in person yet, but we had Skyped and I knew her voice pretty well. I thought about going up to her, but then wondered what good that would do. I was having a nice time. Why would I want to ruin it by including her? I ducked further into the crowd, and continued to enjoy my pleasant evening.

Story Sent in by Laura:

John and I met for our first date on a cold winter evening. We had dinner at a nice cafe, then took a brisk walk to a park, after which, we had planned to go to a comedy show.

While at the park, John asked, "Do you kiss on a first date?"

It was a silly thing to ask, but I told him the truth, "If the mood is right. It's not something I plan, or something that I think can be forced."

He replied, "Oh, I'd force you if I really wanted to, but I respect your boundaries."

And thus he jumped right into the not-kissing column. "Uh, thanks."

He went on, "Not all guys would respect your boundaries. Some would just go for it."

I nodded. Some certainly would. An instant later, John went for a kiss, but I dodged away. He tried again.

"Stand still," he said, the frustration evident in his voice, "I'm trying to kiss you."

I replied, "I just said that it can't be forced. If the mood's right, I said."

He groaned. "Can't you just make the mood right? You trying to tell me you're not in control of your emotions?"

I didn't know what to say to that, but I was more uncomfortable by the moment. Then, he said, "Tell you what: I'll stand here with my eyes closed and mouth open. You kiss me when you're ready, when the, 'mood's right,' or whatever. I'll wait."

I said, hoping to move on, "We should head to the comedy show."

He replied, "There will always be more comedy shows. A first kiss is special."

Right. Which was exactly what this one wouldn't be. He stood there like a moron, eyes closed, lips parted.

"I'm just going to go," I said. He didn't move. Maybe he didn't hear me or didn't take me seriously. Regardless, I wasn't going to repeat myself, and so I hurried away, positive that he'd be after me in moments.

He didn't follow me, and thus I made a narrow escape. It's a shame, because other than that, the date had gone well enough such that I possibly would have considered kissing him, if it all happened organically. Oh well.

Story Sent in by Dan:

Kerry called me shortly before I was to meet her for our date. She said, "I accidentally dropped my wallet behind my radiator."

Guessing that she wouldn't have called me unless that presented some sort of insurmountable obstacle to the evening, I asked, "Can I help?"

"No!" she said, "Don't come over. I just can't drink or spend money tonight."

I asked, "Do you have a friend or roommate who can help you grab it? You do have to pull it out of there eventually, right?"

She said, "I don't want to be late."

I replied, "If you don't want me to come over to help–"

"No!"

"–then I can wait for a little bit. How long do you think it'll take?"

A long pause, then she said, "I'll call my friend, Eric. He'll know what to do. I'll call you back." She hung up. I wasn't sure what Eric would recommend aside from somehow reaching behind the radiator and grabbing the wallet. Still, I hadn't met Kerry in person yet, and so I understood that she didn't want me at her house just yet. If a trusted friend could help us move the evening along, then so much the better.

Kerry never called me back, and so the date didn't end up happening that night. She called me a couple of days later, without so much as an apology. She said that Eric had saved her wallet, and she asked me out to lunch.

My initial inclination was to turn her down, but she was insistent, so I didn't see anything wrong with a quick bite.

At lunch, she said, "Yeah, so Eric came over, found my wallet behind the radiator, and then we opened a bottle of wine and slept together."

I didn't say anything, although it only made me look forward to the end of lunch ever the more. As if to drive the point home, Kerry gave a smile and said, "It was pretty amazing."

I didn't say much for the rest of the short lunch date, and she picked up on it as we split the check. She asked, "Are you upset that I slept with my friend?"

I replied, "No. I just don't think much of women who are too helpless to find their own wallets behind radiators." That shut her up. Unsurprisingly, it was also the only time we met in person.

Profile Sent in by Rochelle:

About Me:

I am a vegetarian bakerchef who completes his food from start to finish. You give me a recipie I will have it down in minutes. I can cook foods lightning quick. I am working in two restaurants and soon will open a 3rd. It is call Home Run. Home Run Restaurants.

I am looking for a woman who will be there for me when I am down such as when feds come in to close restaurants (Home Run) because they find out I am using illegal aliens (not from space!) in the back rooms. They are just love to cook and I want to help them be cooks. Soon I will open a 3rd restaurant. I make vegetarian foods in my restaurant but if you want meat than you can bring it yourself (JOKING) I will make it for you. I make other things. Home Run Restaurants. Other than vegetables but not in my Home Runs Restaurants.

Story Sent in by Linda:

Dwayne asked if we could meet in a local park for our first date, then do dinner. I wore a nice dress, and we met by a bench, not long before sundown. He had a paper shopping bag with him, and I didn't think much of it as we sat down together and made chit-chat.

I was in the middle of answering his question about my summer plans when he pulled what looked like a mass of plastic wrap out of the paper bag. He then tore into it, throwing the plastic wrap on the ground, to reveal a pie shell, filled with what looked like chunky whipped cream. Uh...

He said, "Here's the plan. You start running that way," he pointed, "Then I chase you with this, and if I catch you, I tackle you and smash it on your naked, quivering ass."

"Wow," I said, "What makes you think I'd be remotely interested in doing that?"

He replied, "It'll be fun. I'll pay for dinner."

"And I just show up to dinner with a mess all over my... me?"

He said, "I guess you could go home to change. Just don't take too long. I'm hungry."

"What if you don't catch me?"

"I'll catch you."

Something about his 5'9" likely-over-200lbs frame made me think twice about that. I said, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just walk away, right now."

He replied, "I'd tackle you anyway. I want to see this all over your ass."

I leaned closer to him and replied, "Okay, then. Let's make this fair, if I agree to it. We do it hide-and-seek style. I promise to hide somewhere in the park and not move from that spot. If you find me, you can do whatever you want. Deal?" I gave him a slight smile, hoping he wouldn't call the bluff.

He didn't. "Deal!" he said, then instantly covered his eyes with his arm and counted. The pie was on his lap, and he held it with his other hand, so there was no hope in trying to disarm him.

I didn't know to what number he planned to count, but I didn't wait to find out. I booked it out of there as fast and far as I could, and never heard from him again.

Story Sent in by Russell:

My first two dates with Natalie were good. We had done dinner, bowling, visited some vintage bookstores, and gone on a picnic. I liked her, so I asked her out a third time, for dinner and stargazing. I picked her up at her house around sunset. She opened her door with a smile, a smile that rapidly evaporated.

She said, "Okay, what gives? No flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"Yeah," she explained, "I usually get flowers on a first or second date. I figured you were just playing around or something, but it's our third date and you haven't brought me anything."

I must have taken too long to respond, because she appended her statement with, "You could be bringing me flowers right now, instead of wasting time."

She hadn't been like this before, and I was curious as to what was really the problem. I said, "I've been taking you out and we've been having a nice time together. I'm sure I would've brought you flowers eventually, but why do you want them so badly, today?"

She said, "I'm having some girlfriends over for dinner, and they need to see that you're on the level. I figured that you'd just be smart enough on your own to bring me flowers today, but if I have to tell you how to be a good man, then I can do that. Seriously. Bring me flowers."

She made as if to close the door, but I said, "You're having dinner with friends? We had plans."

She thought for a moment, then said, "You should've thought of that before deciding to not bring me flowers. I'll be waiting."

She closed the door, and that would have been the end of it, if not for an idea that popped into my head. Instead of going anywhere, I waited, there, on her front steps, for a while. I had my phone with me and was able to keep myself occupied until her friends arrived. At one point, a text arrived from Natalie: "Hurry."

It didn't take long. One showed up after an hour, and I kept her chatting until two more showed up shortly thereafter. I introduced myself and poured whatever little charm I had into the conversation.

As I guessed would happen, one of them said, "Should we go inside?" Indeed, yes. All four of us rang Natalie's doorbell. She answered it, saw me, and again, that smile vanished from her face.

If she said something nasty to me, then it would show me that she really meant it when she had earlier said that I was foolish for not bringing her flowers, and she'd therefore appear to be nuts, in front of her friends. If she was nice and polite to me, then it would show me that she knew she was the one acting the fool, earlier.

Without a word of greeting to her friends, she glanced me up and down and said to me, "You were supposed to be back here with flowers before they got here. Bring me flowers like I said, or never come back, asshole."

Her friends made a shocked noise or two. I gave a smirk, a curt nod, and went on my way, and out of her life, forever.

(Hey. For some odd reason, a lot of comments hit the spam filter lately. I just unblocked them all. Sorry about that. No one's been blocked. You'll just have to try harder. - JMG)


Story Sent in by Elizabeth:

Robert took me out to a local outdoor plaza food court. We ordered take-out Japanese at a nearby restaurant and went outside to sit at a table. As we divvied up our food, he glanced over mine and asked, "Did you get the spring roll you ordered?"

Sure enough, it was missing. He said, "I'll be right back," and disappeared around the corner, toward where the Japanese place was.

He didn't come back. I sat there as the food went cold. I called him and his phone went right to voicemail, as if he had switched it off, or maybe the battery was dead. I left a message, and finally ended up bagging up the food and searching for him.

I visited the Japanese place first. He wasn't there. I went back to the table. He wasn't there, either. Having exhausted my only leads, I decided to wait at the table for a little while longer and try his phone again. Voicemail.

I was about to leave when he showed up. He was sweaty and reeked of alcohol. "Hey Bethy-Boo," he said to me, then cracked up and sat on my lap. I shoved him off and he hit the ground.

"Where the hell have you been?" I asked.

He said, "I just stopped for a drink. Isn't that... isn't that what I told you?"

"You left to get my spring roll."

He sprang up. "Yeah! Your spring roll! Oh honey, I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I'll go right over."

I said, "It's too late. Just forget about it." It's more that it would appear suspect to the restaurant if we said that we were missing a spring roll that we should have gone right back to ask about 40 minutes prior.

Robert slurred, "Don't say that! Don't say that! I'm sorry! I'll get you any spring rolls you want... any, oh, God, I'm sorry. I just, I just..." he teetered and his hand went to his chest. I thought he was going to puke.

Instead, he said, "I would give so much money, right now, to see you naked."

Well, that's all, folks. I pulled his food out of the bag, slammed it on the table, and carried my food away from there. I thought he'd try to follow me, but I needn't have worried: the guy could honestly barely stand up, by that point.

He actually called me back two days later as if nothing had happened. I let it go to voicemail, but he referenced the messages I had left for him while I had been waiting. "Hey, Beth. Got your messages. You said you're waiting for me? Did we have a date scheduled today? Heh. Anyways, call me back..."

Story Sent in by Joshua:

Stephanie and I met at a local geology club outing. We were in a small group that explored a cave complex. We spent more time talking to each other than we did about rocks, and by the end of the excursion, I had her number and plans for a first date.

I took her out to a restaurant that I thought fitting: it had a downstairs eating area with one wall that was entirely natural rock. We sat at a table close to it and enjoyed conversation over glasses of wine.

It was after her second glass that she asked me, "Do you want to sleep with anyone in the rock club?"

Well, I kind of wanted to sleep with Stephanie, herself, but in the interests of decorum, I said, "No one immediately comes to mind, but I'd keep my options open." I meant to imply her by that last part. I wasn't sure if she'd pick up on it.

She said, "Liz wants to sleep with you."

Liz was in our club, and was in her early twenties. She was a know-it-all who found a way to twist every conversation into a discussion about how awesome she was. Not interested.

I said as much to Stephanie, "Liz isn't my type."

Stephanie said, "I figured. But I'm not your type, either."

Uh oh. "How can you be so sure?"

Stephanie laughed and said, "You don't understand. Liz isn't your type. I'm not your type. No one is your type. I don't want you to end up with anyone. Understand?"

"Not really."

She leaned in and cleared her throat. "I don't want you to end up with anyone. So I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you don't."

I wasn't sure where this was coming from. Perhaps two glasses of wine were too much for her. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm going to probably die alone, and why should I be the only one?"

"I don't think you have to die alone."

She muttered something I couldn't hear, then stood up and said, "I'm going to go home to do that right now."

She swept out before I could say anything else. I hurried to slam a few bills on the table to pay for the drinks, and I ran outside, but she wasn't there.

After hearing those words, I knew I had to do something, but I didn't know her address. I called her number. No answer. I then called 911 and explained the situation. I gave them her number and name, in the hope that, if she actually was planning to do something, that somehow, the authorities would stop her. Maybe she was joking, maybe she was drunk, but it had all been so sudden and so bitter on her part, that I didn't want to take a chance.

She never came back to the geology club meetings afterward, but last I Googled her, she's alive, but living an hour away. I have no idea if there was an intervention or if she even needed one, but I stand by my decision to make the call.

Story Sent in by Karri:

Ed and I were at dinner when he asked me what my favorite animal was. I told him that I liked sparrows.

He said, "That's stupid. My favorite animal can eat a sparrow. A thousand sparrows."

He then posed his hands as if they were claws and roared at me, possibly as loud as he could. Eyes turned to us, and for several moments, I wished that I was a sparrow, myself, so that I could fly far away.

He asked, "Can you guess what I am?"

"A tiger?"

He shook his head and roared again, same volume. "Guess again!"

"I can guess without you roaring at me."

"Evidently not, since you just guessed wrong. Guess again, guess again."

I said, "A lion," hoping that it would stop his roars.

He nodded like an excited six-year-old and roared again, but a bit quieter. "And you will be my lioness mate!"

I replied, trying to keep it jovial and civil, "Ah, but I'm a sparrow."

He said, "Fuck sparrows. Lions eat sparrows and absorb their nutrients. You will become part of me. More intimate than sex. No offense."

"Uh, I'd prefer to remain uneaten and un-mated."

"If you had to be one, which would you be?"

"Depends on who the prospective mate was.

He grinned. "Then after dinner, we'll see to your mating."

The rest of dinner went quickly, but he made a good amount of conversation about the leonine mating process. How lions mate, how often they mate, how they choose their partners, and so on.

Just after leaving, on the street, he turned to me and said, "Where would you like to do this?"

I said, "I'm heading home. Sorry," and hightailed it out of there. Never heard from him again, but I see that he still checks out my dating profile from time to time.

Story Sent in by Henry:

Carol had an unusual profile. It was stream-of-consciousness, but funny, so I thought that she'd make for a quirky person to meet. She wrote back mere seconds after I fired off my email to her, and after a short session of rapid-fire emails, we agreed to meet for a first date within the forthcoming days.

We migrated to telephone, and the conversations went well, although she had a habit of breaking into non sequiturs every two minutes. We'd be talking about something on the news, and then she'd ask, "Why are unicorns always naked?" It made for an interesting, unpredictable conversation, I'll tell you that much.

When she showed up to our date, in front of a restaurant, she carried a sledgehammer with her. I greeted her, and without a word, she pulled an orange out from her pocket, placed it on the ground, and smashed it with the sledgehammer. She then sat cross-legged next to the pulpy mess and ate it.

Scooping some of it up with her fingers, she held it up to me.

"No thanks," I said.

She replied, "You should try some. Nothing like sledgehammered fruit. And next time, it might be your head."

She finished the orange all on her own, and it was right about then that I realized that I had somewhere else to be that wasn't there. I bid her a hasty goodnight and left.

Story Sent in by Pearla:

When Albert asked me out for our first date, he said, "I know a great spot just outside of town. Want to go camping?"

I replied, "Not on a first date."

He laughed it off, then suggested a meal, instead. That was more my speed, at least for a first meeting.

At dinner, he said, "I have a great idea for something we can do after dinner."

"What's that?"

"I know a great spot just outside of town. Want to go camping?"

"No thanks. Maybe a movie? Or a concert?"

He put his hand to his chin. "Nah, I was thinking, maybe camping. There's a great spot, just outside of town."

I laughed. "I'm not going camping."

"Oh, you're going camping."

"I don't think so."

"If you don't come camping with me, then I'll take someone else. I could ask any girl in this whole stupid city to go camping with me and she'd do it."

I pointed to two women, talking together at the bar. "Ask them."

He stood, strode to them, and said to them, "I know a great spot just outside of town. Want to go camping?"

They looked at each other and laughed at him. He smiled and nodded at them, then returned to me at the table. He said, "They're going camping with me."

I replied, "That's not what it looks like."

He turned to them and called out, "I'll meet you outside. We'll... we'll all go camping..."

He left the restaurant, without even paying the check. I ran after him and caught up with him outside. "Are you just going to leave me with the check?"

He said, "Are you going camping with me?"

I replied, "Let's split the check, then we can go."

We went back inside, split the check, and then left together. Those two girls at the bar watched us the entire time, probably wondering more about why I was hanging around with a guy like that, than about him.

We left the restaurant together, I asked him for the name of the place for my GPS. He gave it to me and said, "I'll drive behind you. To make sure you get there."

I replied, "Then let me follow you. If it's a place you've been to a lot, then I'd trust you sooner than my GPS."

He went for it, and on the way to the park, I ditched him. The requisite phone calls and emails arrived from him, but I was pleased with myself for having dodged a ridiculous bullet.

Story Sent in by Dale:

Michelle and I were out to dinner on date number two. We were at a nice neighborhood restaurant and were in the midst of catching up over drinks when she glanced at a nearby booth and said, "Oh my God! Frank!"

I turned to face the object of Michelle's attention. He looked older than I by about 10 years, and a young woman who looked younger than I by about 10 years sat with him. Father and daughter? I thought.

Frank stood up, Michelle followed suit, and they hugged each other. Michelle turned to me and said, "Dale, this is Frank, my friend."

"Ex-boyfriend," Frank said, and laughed.

Michelle rolled her eyes and said to me, "It was a long time ago."

Hey, no problems here. I wasn't worried. Not, at least, until Michelle joined Frank and his young woman companion at his booth. Michelle beckoned me over, and I followed, hoping that it would just be a brief social visit.

It wasn't. Michelle was apparently settling into Frank's booth to stay. Weren't she and I on a date?

Frank introduced the young woman sitting with him as Rafaela. They were together. In short order, Frank and Michelle were laughing and catching up over old times.

"Remember when you fucked me up against the tree in Lyman Memorial Park?" Michelle asked him, "My back was torn up for weeks!"

Frank, Michelle, and Rafaela laughed. I cut in, "Michelle and I are actually in the middle of a date so we're probably going to head back to our table, soon."

"No!" said Rafaela, "Stay!"

"Yeah! Yeah!" Frank said, "Dinner's on me!"

Michelle kissed Frank's cheek and squeezed his hand. I waited for an opportunity to whisper to Rafaela, and when it came, I asked her, "Does this not bother you?"

She asked me, "Why would it? Frank's wonderful. He pays for everything."

Okay, then. As I watched, Frank and Michelle slid closer and closer together, and when they spoke, their heads tilted together like lovers.

I had had enough at that point, and I slid out from the booth and said, "I'm going to head out. Very nice to meet you, Frank and Rafaela."

Frank said, "You're leaving so soon? Killjoy."

Rafaela said to Michelle, "Isn't he your date? You should keep him here."

Michelle replied, "I've got everything I need, here. Goodnight, Dale."

I left.

Story Sent in by AnnaLee:

Lawrence's first in-person words to me were, "You're about to have a date with the best guy, ever."

I replied, "Am I?"

He said, "Let's start with chivalry." He opened the nearby restaurant door for me. I thanked him and walked in.

Once we sat down, I asked him how his day went. "Great!" he replied, "I'm finally going to be recognized for being better than my boss! They're giving me a colossal raise. Your first drink's on me, tonight!"

"Thanks. What are they going to have you doing?" I had asked him, when we were first talking online, what he did, and he said he was a consultant.

"Astronaut engineering," he replied. "And working with a top Hollywood director on producing a major motion picture. It's about to get really busy for me. You're so lucky I made the time to be with you and to pay for your first drink."

"Thanks. Again. Those sound pretty... you're going to be doing both of those at once?"

He nodded, then shouted, across the restaurant, "Waiter to the best table! Paging a waiter to the best table!" He turned back to me and said, "Well, that's in addition to my own work as an attorney. I'm about to win a major malpractice suit and be made a managing partner of an investment firm. Yes, these are busy times for me. Busy and successful. Want a drink? First one's on me—"

A waiter hurried over. Lawrence said, "I'll have a cocktail."

The waiter asked, "Which cocktail?"

Lawrence replied, "Whichever one's best. And I'm paying for her first drink. Just her first drink. She'll have a," he looked at me, "What do you want?"

I glanced over the house special drink menu and asked the waiter, "What do you recommend, between the Bloody Cassie and the Vector?"

Lawrence cut in, "Try them both. But I'm only buying the first one." He turned to the waiter. "She'll have both. But I'm only buying one of them."

I said, "I'll have the Bloody Cassie."

As the waiter left, Lawrence said, "You should've ordered both. I want you drunk."

I kept him talking until the drinks arrived. One of his many gems was, "They were actually considering sending a vial of my DNA to Mars and having it be the first human DNA to touch Martian soil. It was a NASA program to send DNA to Mars. My DNA. To the Mars lands."

When my cocktail came, I drank it in silence as Lawrence went on about his amazing accomplishments. "I invented a new kind of deadbolt that actually locks from both sides of the door, without a key."

I asked, "What's the point of that?"

He answered, "It locks. You know, from both sides. No more inconvenient locking from just one side."

Right. I finished my drink and decided that, despite his entertainment value, it was time for me to go. He repeatedly offered me a ride home, I declined, and he insisted that I take his light jacket with me, to keep me warm. It was 70° out.

He said, "Hang onto it. This way, I'll be sure to see you again," and winked.

I tried to refuse the coat, but he insisted, so I took it. I never contacted him after that date, and he never reached out to me, either. I only recently rediscovered the coat in my closet, with a two pockets full of condoms, and that brought the whole unfortunate experience back to me.

Story Sent in by Charles:

Valerie showed up to our first date with a large purse. Once we sat down, she pulled out a copy of Sports Illustrated and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said, and since I had never really discussed sports with her, I asked, "Why?"

She said, "You're a guy, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"All right, then." She reached into her purse again and pulled out a copy of Maxim and handed it to me.

I took it, but said, "Really? Maxim?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you took it. Telling. One more for you." She pulled out a Penthouse.

I asked, "You want me to take it?"

She shrugged. "I bought it for you."

I didn't want to be rude, so I took it, but I did say, "I'm not really into these magazines." Personally, I preferred the real thing.

Valerie stood up, said, "Enjoy your meal and smut," and left me there. Mere minutes after the date had begun, it was over.

Best I can figure, it was a test to see if I'd take the magazines, and that the ones I took were somehow indicative of the sort of guy I was. Truth was, she had offered them, I didn't want to refuse what I thought were (however strange) gifts, and if I had failed her test, then she had certainly failed mine.

Story Sent in by Laura:

William wrote me over a dating site, we talked for a week, and had enough in common to warrant a date.

He showed up wearing a tartan skirt, which I felt inclined to point out to him.

He said, "I'm proud of my heritage."

"You're Scottish?"

He said, "Half English, a quarter French, a quarter Russian."

He was gung-ho about dinner, so we went to a nearby cafe. The table at which we sat was iron and had a grated surface, so I was able to see through it to his legs, which he spread in a most unladylike way.

Catching my glance, he said, "This is like that scene in Indecent Proposal with Sharon Stone, remember?"

"You mean Basic Instinct?"

"Oh yeah."

"It's nothing like that, actually. Would you mind closing your legs?"

He spread them even wider. "I'm proud of my heritage," he repeated.

I ordered a salad, hurried through it, told him that I was needed at home, and handed him cash for my meal.

He pushed the money away. "No. A man of my clan pays for his lady."

I thanked him but rushed away, all the same.

Story Sent in by Christopher:

Patricia and I met online. We talked for two weeks before we met in person, and I had no indication at all that she was anything other than sweet and thoughtful. We talked about the little things like how our days went, and the big things like future plans and those late-night "why-are-we-here" sorts of questions. I liked her.

When we finally did meet, though, for our date, the first thing I noticed was that when I hugged her, she didn't hug me back. At once, I was nervous. I asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, in a tone that indicated anything but honesty, "Let's just have dinner."

It was our first time speaking that day, and it was a Friday, so maybe she had a bad day at work. She worked in a university's astronomy department, and I knew that she had a hot-and-cold relationship with her supervisor. I hoped that the truth would come out at dinner.

She was unresponsive and quiet throughout the meal. Despite my efforts to sympathize, change the topic, or make her laugh, I couldn't pry out what it was that was bugging her. I wondered if it was something about me. My online photos were all current, taken within six months at most. At one point, I even asked her, "Is it me?"

She replied, "No. That's the point."

A-ha. A clue. I asked her, "Could you just tell me what's wrong? I know I can cheer you up."

She brushed it off, as she had several times before, "It's personal."

We hadn't had trouble discussing personal things before, but I was tired of trying to figure it out. I went through the rest of dinner reporting on minor bits of news or talking about this movie or that book.

The clincher came when she didn't offer to help me with the check and didn't thank me for paying. Where the girl I had fallen for over the past couple of weeks had gone, I didn't know, but this wasn't her. I was anxious to bring the date to a close, and we walked out together.

I gave her a hug goodnight and she said, "I can't believe you. You really couldn't figure it out?"

I said, "You mean, why you were unresponsive and rude throughout dinner? That's not my job. I'm not a therapist. You could've told me what was bothering you any number of times."

She laughed. "Of course, it's my fault! Blame everyone but yourself." She cleared her throat. Here came the explanation. "It's the anniversary of my last breakup. I dropped at least a hundred hints throughout dinner, and you didn't pick up on one."

I replied, "I don't recall a single hint, and why drop hints at all? Why not just tell me?"

"Because it's personal!"

"But you just told me, now! What makes it suddenly permissible to tell?"

"Because you're supposed to hold my hair back as I vomit! That's what a normal guy would do!"

"What?!"

"It's the anniversary, I loved this guy, he broke my heart, and you just sat there and talked about movies and bullshit! I should kill you! I hate you so much!"

Okay, then. I walked away. The next words out of her mouth, though, were pure comedy:

"Where are you going?"

I didn't take the bait. She must have sent me a thousand emails and called me off the hook for the next several days, but for some reason or another, I simply couldn't bring myself to respond to her. Maybe you can figure out why.

Story Sent in by Marie:

Rob winced a bit as he shifted in his seat. We were at a restaurant on our very first date, and the fact that he seemed to be in pain was not lost on me. I asked him, "Everything okay?"

He replied, "Oomf, not really. See, I had an... a... well, a prostate exam earlier."

My turn to wince. "Ooh, ouch. You okay? Is it supposed to hurt that much?"

He shook his head. "Well, it wasn't pleasant, put it that way. We don't have to talk about it at dinner. I'll be all right."

Taking that to mean that he didn't want to talk about it, I left it alone and I asked him, "Tell me about your family."

He gave me a funny look and said, "Okay, well someone's not very sympathetic."

"What are you talking about?"

He shifted, winced, and said, "You could at least say, 'If I can get you anything, let me know.' You just went on like I wasn't sitting here in unimaginable pain."

My turn to shift due to discomfort. I said, "You said that we didn't have to talk about it and that you would be all right. Was that a lie?"

"No, but you could've been way more sympathetic."

I sighed. "Can I get you anything?"

He replied with a smile, "Well, I might ask you to make it up to me somehow."

"And how is that?"

He leaned in, shifted himself in his seat, and I noted that he didn't wince that time. "Well, I had an unpleasant... anal experience earlier, and I'd love to round out the day with a pleasant one."

Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh! Was he serious? Was this a joke?

As if in answer to that, he said, "Do you know what I mean?" and winked.

I said, "I do. I can't really provide that, tonight–"

"Some other night, then?" he asked, "I'm around most of this week."

"I'm not," I replied, "The rest of my week... life... yeah, it just filled up."

He sighed and shrugged. "Your loss."

Somehow I doubted it. The rest of the date was civil, but any excitement had gone out of him. It had gone out of me, too, of course. After dinner, he gave me an awkward hug goodnight (which I didn't expect, otherwise I would've made some excuse to dodge it) and that was it.

Story Sent in by Roger:

Melissa showed up to our first date dinner wearing a tank top that had a picture of a cartoon dog on it. That was my first clue that something wasn't right. Second clue was the question she asked me not long after sitting down: "Do you own any dogs?"

"I don't," I confessed.

She asked, "Have any friends who own dogs?"

I replied, "I'm sure I... do. You're a dog fan?"

"Uh, yeah," she said, pointing to her shirt, "Do you think that we can go see it?"

"My friend's dog?" I asked, "I... guess."

Perceptive enough to pick up on my hesitation, she asked, "What's wrong?"

I said, "Nothing. It's just a weird thing to ask to do on a date."

She said, "I'm not asking you to jump out an airplane, go car racing, or build me a house where I can keep all my dolls. I'm asking to see your friend's dog. If it's that big a deal, then forget about it."

I shrugged. "Fine. We can go see my friend's dog after dinner. I'll call him and ask if we can stop by."

It was an easy thing to do, at least. It took a phone call. Unfortunately, my friend-with-a-dog didn't pick up his phone. I left a message right there, at the table.

"He wasn't there?" Melissa asked, "Try him again."

"I've already left him a voicemail."

"What's his number? I'll call him. He'll pick up for me. I'm a girl."

"I doubt he'll be able to tell that before picking up, and I'm not giving you his number, in any case. He'll call me back if he's around."

"I want to see a dog."

I laughed. "Okay." She was nuts, and we didn't talk much through all the rest of dinner.

Afterward, she asked me to call my friend one more time, which I pretended to do, and I left a pretend voicemail. Melissa asked, "Do you have any other friends with dogs you can call?"

"No. Why did you come out with me tonight if all you wanted to do was play with a dog?"

She said, "None of my friends with dogs are around this week and I just wanted to meet some new ones. Thanks, anyway."

Just like that, the date was over.

Story Sent in by Kimberly:

I was set up on a date with Thomas by a mutual friend who I no longer allow to set me up on dates. Her judgment, up until this guy, was usually spot-on, but Thomas sufficiently ruined it for the rest of them.

Thomas was easy on the eyes. He took me out to a nice restaurant, and after trading vital facts about each other for a few minutes, he asked me, "Ready to see my dick?"

A hesitation on my part, just for a moment, to playback what he had just said, then an automatic, "No. Thanks. I'm good without dick."

He sat back with a smile. "Have you ever seen a dick before? It might look different than you think. You might be surprised."

I replied, "No dick is going to surprise me. Not tonight. Not ever. Let's talk about something else."

He didn't press the issue, and I felt that I at least owed it to my friend to see things through. Thomas was a mutual friend, as I said, and I didn't want to create drama just over something he said. If he tried anything, though, then all bets would be off.

The only other hint that he was in fact planning to try something came not long before dinner was over. He asked me, "You like surprises?"

I replied, "Of the pleasant variety."

He nodded, and that ended our discussion about surprises.

After dinner, we went outside. It was just after sundown, but darkening rapidly. He asked if I wanted to take a walk around the village green, and I didn't think any harm of it.

As we rounded a corner, near a line of houses, he unzipped his pants and stretched out his floppy junk. "Meet the dick," he said.

I screamed and booked it away, yelling, "Have a good night!" over my shoulder.

My friend called me the next morning to ask how it went. She said, "Thomas told me that he had a really good time with you."

I replied, "Did he mention the part where he yanked out his wiener?"

Turns out, Thomas hadn't mentioned that. No hard feelings for my friend, but I felt better finding my own dates after that nonsense.

Story Sent in by James:

Alice and I were on a first date, at a fair that was held in a local park. There were a couple of rides, a few dozen stalls and tents showcasing nearby businesses, and lots of families walking around.

At one point, I heard Alice say, "This is all illogical," to herself.

I asked, "What's illogical?"

She replied, "Just all of this. Why aren't these businesses in their stores?" She pointed to one of the rides, a small carousel, "What's that device doing here, and why are so many people packed in so small a space?"

I said, "It's just a spring fair. People like to be outside."

"But why? It's illogical."

"What's illogical about it?" I asked, trying to understand.

She pointed to two kids, likely a sister and brother. "Look there. Shouting things. Not logical." She pointed to a young woman at a stall, selling fresh bread. "That lady of bread. Is she the queen of breads? Why is she here? Not logical." She pointed to the ground. "Green hair sprouting from the floor? Not logical. Why is any of this here, doing what it's doing?"

I said, smiling, "Oh no. She's turned into robot girl."

I thought that the joke would be over. But she was just starting. She hurried ahead and I sped to catch up. She looked at a jewelery spread, under a tent. "Shiny bits. Shiny for no reason. Just absorb light like the rest of us and do not reflect it."

She turned to a clothing stall. "Skin selling? Why sell these colorful skins? My own skins will do."

She looked at a vendor who had stocked bookshelves set up. "Bricks of paper. If you cannot bestow your secrets upon me like a crown on a princess, then we are done here."

She then broke away and walked between two tents. I followed her to a spot away from the fair. "Alice, where are you going?" I asked, "Can we go back to the fair?"

She replied, "I must find a pulpy node to reset." So saying, she booked it for a tree and slammed into it, headfirst, at a horrifying speed.

"Alice!" I shouted, and ran to her side. Her hands went to her head and the back of her neck. She moaned, then turned to me.

"James?" she asked, her voice trembling and weak, "What, where–" She looked around, then up at the fair.

"Yeah, the fair," she said, "That's right. What happened? My head and neck are really sore."

She had a scrape on her forehead, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I took her to the first aid tent, they patched her up, and I waited until we were done there before asking where the whole illogical robot act came from.

"I don't remember that," she said, "But it's happened to me before, I think. This is all like a dream. I don't remember it happening, but when people say it did, I always wondered if it actually happened of if I dreamed that they said it happened."

Oh, it happened. The rest of our time at the fair went about as normally as it could, but she moved a lot slower, and her hands kept rubbing her head and neck. I asked her if she wanted to go to a hospital, but she said that she didn't.

We grabbed a couple of sandwiches to eat, ate them on a nearby bench, walked around a bit more, then she said that she had to go, and so she left.

Over the next day, I called her once (voicemail) and emailed her to check in, to make sure she was okay.

She wrote back, "Yes, I'm fine. Why?" And that's when I decided that any further interaction with her would be illogical.

Story Sent in by Lillian:

Joe and I had been out on one date already, and on our next date he and I were to dine at an Indian place in a shopping center. However, before going inside the restaurant, he asked me if I'd join him for just a moment as he ran into an adjoining Target.

Seeing no harm in that, I went inside with him and accompanied him to the bedding section, where he looked up and down the aisles at the comforters.

"I need a new one for my bed," he explained, "The one I have is torn up."

We looked at their rather small selection and he took his time, squeezing and holding up the blankets as if selecting a Thanksgiving roast. He pointed to one and asked me, "Think this one will look good on my bed?"

"Sure," I replied, not knowing what his bed looked like.

After another couple of minutes, he grabbed one, paid for it, put it in his car, and off we went to dinner.

In the middle of dinner, not long after our food had been delivered to the table, we were talking about something I can't remember when all of a sudden, he stood up and said, "I must return that blanket."

He left me there without another word. While he was gone, I finished my dinner, and the waiter had taken my plate away before Joe came back. When he did come back, he asked, "Where's your dinner?"

I replied, "I ate it. You all set with the blanket, now?"

He said, "Yeah. I returned it, no problem."

We split the check. Right afterward, he said, "Would you believe I've changed my mind about the blanket again? Now I want it back."

We went back into Target, he selected a duplicate of the blanket he had returned, paid for it, then put it into his car. He then asked me, "How about you?"

"How about me, what?"

"Do you need a blanket?"

"No."

"Never mind, then."

He slipped into his car and drove off. And that was the last I saw of him.

Story Sent in by Brock:

I met Lydia at a friend's party. We clicked and I asked her if she'd want to go out on a date. She said that she would and we talked a while more. Lots of good things stood out about her, but one strange thing happened: over the course of the night, she twice asked me if I knew a guy named Nick Thomas. I didn't, and after the second time she asked me ("Are you sure you don't know Nick Thomas?"), I asked her who he was.

"He's a nobody," she said, then changed the subject. I didn't think much more about it. Just one of those things.

Forward to our date. Less than five minutes into it, she asked, "Do you know Nick Thomas?"

I had to laugh. "Who is Nick Thomas?"

She replied, "My ex. I think."

Uh-oh. "You think?"

She sighed and said, "He was my boyfriend for a little over a year, then said he wanted to explore around. He had sex with two of my best friends then explored elsewhere."

Ouch. Sad story. I said, "Are you all right? And why did you say, 'I think'?"

She replied, "We never officially broke up. I think we might still be together."

I said, "After messing around with two of your friends and then exploring elsewhere, I think he thinks it's done. Also, perhaps you should explore making new best friends. Taking him into their beds after you was pretty heartless of them."

She sighed again, then said, "I got rid of them, but I was hoping that maybe... you were him."

"Huh?"

She said, "You kind of look like him. I just thought that maybe you were him and wanted to come back to me. Silly hope, I guess."

"You thought I was him?"

"You kind of look like him, and it's been a while since I saw him last. He might have grown into you."

"I'm sorry. He didn't."

"You sure you're not Nick Thomas? Just to be sure."

"Positive."

She sighed a third time. "Too bad."

At some point or other, we changed topics, and the rest of the date went off without a hitch. However, I didn't reach out to her for a second date.

(Are you a writer? I've a new blog for that: jaredsinkwell.blogspot.com. - JMG)


Story Sent in by Mary:

Ryan and I met at a friend's laser tag birthday party. We spent most of the time talking, as opposed to shooting, and I gave him my number. He called me a few days later, and we got on great.

After a couple of phone conversations, he asked, "Can I take you out? Like a date?"

"Like a date?" I repeated, laughing, "Sure."

He took me out first to a small chain toy store that had demo Nerf guns available to play with, and boy, did we play with them, shooting ourselves across aisles, counters, and corners. The staff must have loved us, but I thought it was a smart and fun idea for a pre-dinner activity.

In the midst of the carnage, he said, "I have a friend you'd be perfect for."

A dull ache hit against my stomach. I thought this was supposed to be a date? He had even said so, over the phone! Why would he have said that, if he wasn't interested? Ugh, he just wanted to be friends. Damn it.

I had to be sure, though. I asked, "Is that the end of the date, then?"

"Hang on," he replied, then whipped out his phone. "I'll call my friend, now. He'll meet us. You'll love him."

He dialed. I didn't want to seem insecure, but I was intensely curious about what had turned us from a date into a perfect-for-friend. We had been having such a great time.

I held my tongue and decided to try and perhaps win him back over, or at least to see what he was up to. We played around a bit more in the store as if nothing had happened, and then went off to a nearby place for dinner. He had asked his friend to meet us there, so I hoped that more would become clear.

Not one, but two other guys showed up. Both were in undershirts and jeans in various stages of disrepair. Ryan introduced me to Hal and Jeff. Hal sat next to Ryan, Jeff sat next to me. He stank.

Ryan gave a long introduction to both of them, which I won't relate here. He finished with his sales pitch: "...and it would be great if maybe we all went somewhere after this, maybe my house, and had some, you know, fun."

"Fun?" I asked, like an idiot.

"Sex," Hal, who had not yet spoken, said bluntly.

I said, "No. With... who? All of you?"

Ryan said, "We're clean," as if to reassure me, "At least, yeah. Right guys?" he turned back and forth.

Hal and Jeff nodded. Was that hesitation on Hal's part?

I said, directly to Ryan, "Are you serious?"

He said, "I thought you'd be into it. Sex is fun."

Hal and Jeff nodded a bit more emphatically. I stood to slide out from the booth. Jeff, who was next to me, stayed put and drank my water. "Excuse me," I said.

Jeff replied, "There is no excuse for you." His eyes moved up and down my body, and I felt, for a moment, like I was covered with snakes.

I said, "I want to call some girlfriends. They might be interested in coming along. I can barely hear in here, though. That cool?"

Jeff slid out. Ryan stood and asked me, "Want me to come with?"

"Oh, no. I can make the call on my own. Be right back."

I wasn't right back, and thankfully, I never heard from Ryan again.

Story Sent in by Jessie:

Edith and I had spoken online and on the phone for weeks. We had a great thing going. I couldn't wait to meet her. Our first date was a picnic in a park on a cloudless day. It was a little warm, but breezy, and everything, as far as I could tell, was pitch-perfect.

I stretched out a blanket and we both took out the containers filled with food that we had both cooked. Out came the plates, utensils, and wine, and we were off on what would have likely been the very best date of my life.

In the midst of the laughter, conversation, and smiles, I told her this joke: "Two guys were camping. They pitched their tent and went to bed. One of them woke suddenly in the middle of the night, looked up at the stars, and said, 'Look up. What do you see?'

"The second man looked up and said, 'So many beautiful stars.'

"The first man said, 'And?'

"The second man said, 'Millions of stars might mean thousands of planets, and thousands of planets might mean life on other worlds. It's mind-boggling to comprehend.'

"The first man said, 'Actually, idiot, it means that someone stole our tent.'"

She laughed so hard that she farted. It was as loud as a trumpet on Judgment Day, but lasted only a moment.

Her laughter stopped. She went rigid, then, without a word, she scooped up her containers and made off, toward her car.

Naturally, I ran after her in an effort to assure her that there was no offense taken. Reaching her, I said, "Hey, don't be embarrassed, it's okay–"

She shoved past me, even faster. She threw her containers into her car, stormed into the vehicle, and drove away. Never heard from her again after that.

Story Sent in by Ramona:

Robert and I were at dinner on our first date and split a slice of cheesecake for dessert. As we went at it, one of his forkfuls grazed my pinky finger.

"Whoops!" he said.

I went for my napkin. "It's okay," I said.

He dropped his fork, grabbed my hand, and licked the cheesecake off of my finger. Not okay for a first date. I ripped my hand away. He said, "Good thing I didn't drop any on your boobs. I'd have to lick that off, then!"

"All right," I replied, anxious to steer the conversation anywhere else.

We were almost finished with the dessert when he pointed over my shoulder and said, "What's that waiter doing?"

I turned to look, and he reached across the table with a bit of cheesecake on his fingers and smeared them onto my upper chest.

"Ugh!" I yelled and slapped him away. He then lurched across the table, mouth agape, tongue stretching at where he had just soiled my chest. I pushed him away, went for a napkin, and wiped my chest clean.

"What's your problem?" he asked, as if I was somehow at all at fault.

"Excuse me," I said, and left him there without even offering to help pay for dinner. I think I earned that escape.

Story Sent in by Dwight:

On my first date with Barbara, she tilted her head close to me as we walked, which I first mistook for a sign of affection. She asked, "How does my head smell?"

I sniffed. It smelled like floral shampoo, so I said, "It smells very nice. Whatever shampoo you're using, it's great."

She didn't say anything to that, and we kept walking in silence. In the spirit of fun and conversation, I asked her, "How does my head smell?"

I tilted it down for her and she sniffed it.

"Purrruuuughhh!" she exclaimed and stepped back haltingly until she hit a nearby brick building. "What died on your head?"

For the record, I had washed my hair with shampoo and conditioner before going out. This might have been the first time that anyone specifically set out to smell my head on a date, but I had been close enough to women before such that they were within easy head-smelling distance, and this was the first complaint I had received.

"Oh God!" she went on, almost in hysterics, "I still have its taste in my mouth!"

My hair was never in her mouth! She ran to a nearby convenience store and I followed her in, hoping that it was a joke, or that maybe I could do something... I don't know. She grabbed a can of ginger ale, opened it, and downed it right there, in the store.

"Ahhh," she said, "I never want to smell your head again."

Any desire for a date with Barbara was done, on my part. Surprisingly, she then asked, "Ready for dinner?" as if nothing at all strange had just happened.

I said, "I wouldn't want you to have to smell my head again, so we should call it a night."

She shook her head. "No! No, we can still go out, just sit, you know, far away from me. We can find a place that has long tables. Like an Indian place or whatever."

"Have a good night, Barbara."

I walked back to my car, but she followed me there, pleading that "we can still have a nice time," and "it'll be fun," and "just keep your head pointed away from me," and so on.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realized that she didn't pay for that ginger ale.

(Are you a writer? I've a new writing blog: jaredsinkwell.blogspot.com. - JMG)


Story Sent in by Beata:

Ross and I were on a first date, walking through a quaint, artsy village that wasn't far from where we both lived. It was a beautiful day, and the plan was to walk in town, have lunch, hit up a nearby riverfront, and see how things went.

Not long after we met up, as we strolled through the village, he turned to me and said, "This whole town just radiates positive energy." It was a nice place, and as I said, the weather was great. I could be on board with that.

Then, he asked, "Do you think I radiate positive energy?"

I said, "You seem like a pretty happy guy, yeah."

He said, "That's not what I mean. I mean do I radiate positive energy? As in, do I turn everything around me positive?"

"I, uh, sure. Okay." I had barely been in his presence for 15 minutes, so I couldn't really figure if he was joking around, trying to make a larger point, or what.

"Watch this," he said, then walked up to a nearby family who was sitting on a bench, eating ice cream cones. He stepped right in front of them, outstretched his arms, shut his eyes tight, and said, "Positive energy!" at them, as if blasting them with rays of sunshine, glory, and delusion.

The mother said, "Thank you," and they proceeded to ignore him.

He bounded back to me and said, "Did you hear? They're going to have a better day now, because of me. It's a superpower that I've always had. I can harness my particles."

"Wow," I remarked, "That's great."

A lone, middle-aged guy ambled up the sidewalk. Ross stepped in front of him, and the guy immediately dodged aside to continue on. Ross stretched his arms toward the guy and said, "Positive energy!" and the guy kept going, a bit faster, up the road.

Ross said to me, "I don't know what his problem was."

I suggested, "Maybe you should send out vibes mentally, instead of... physically. Isn't that how... vibes work?"

He took my meaning. "You want me to stop blasting people with positivity. You'd rather I let people stay insecure and negative, that it?"

"I'd rather you stop harassing people. Let's just enjoy the day."

"Oh, I'm harassing people, am I? Sounds like someone needs positive energy!" He then extended his arms to me, shut his eyes tight, and said, "Positive energy!"

I didn't feel anything different, except for a bit more embarrassment. I suggested, "Let's get lunch!" with a smile, hoping that he'd believe that his voodoo had worked, while also hastening the close of the date.

At lunch, he went on about how he had known himself to be a metaphysical healer since he was very young, and that everyone he came into contact with seemed to smile more and feel better than they had before meeting him. I smiled and nodded, which probably fed right into his delusional theory.

He hugged me for a good, long time at the end of the date (which was right after lunch) and expressed an interest in seeing me again and "cleansing [me] of negativity." He gave me one more "Positive energy" vibe blast and off we both went: I to my home, and he to fantasy kingdom, or wherever he and his particles lived.

Story Sent in by John:

I had spoken to Lara online for maybe about a week when I asked her out for drinks. We met in front of a bar, introduced each other, took a brief walk around the block, and then, when we returned to the bar, I held the door open for her.

She froze and gave me a withering stare. "Ugh. You're one of those?" she asked.

I was confused. "One of... what?"

She said, "One of those hold-the-door-open guys? Seriously?"

I closed the door. "You can open it yourself, if you'd prefer. I was just being nice."

She looked at me as if she had me all figured out. "You know exactly what I mean. You hold the door open for me and then you'll expect sex and marriage and babies."

My turn to give her a look. "I will?"

She nodded. "I've seen it all before. But this is a first date, and I demand patience and respect."

"Okay. Ready to go inside?"

She laughed and stepped away. "You still don't get it! Adios."

She walked away, leaving me confused, date-less, but probably better off.

(Candice, given the name "Jennifer" in yesterday's Have a Cow, has submitted her own version of events on that date. Candice says, "I was shocked to read Pat's story today. If it's not about me, then I don't know who else it could be about.")

Rebuttal Story Sent in by Candice:

First thing: Pat was really, really into himself, and was the sort of guy who'd twist any situation to make himself the victim or the hero. It didn't hit me until after the whole date situation. He didn't mention in his story that he had held down three jobs in less than a year, having been let go from each subsequent one because they "didn't like the way [he] did things." That's called insubordination, asshole.

We agreed on Chinese food for dinner without any of the argument that he portrayed. I hadn't even heard of Master Wok II, but I wasn't at all averse to trying it. I did ask him, "Is that a hole-in-the-wall place?" but only because I was actually curious, not because I looked down on such places. Either way, if he suggested it, I'd try it.

During that same conversation, he was, as he said, the one to inform me that Fredo's had closed. I was down about it because I had lots of great memories of Fredo's. I must have had six of my childhood birthday parties there. So yes, I might have been down about it, but I certainly didn't blame him for it closing!

At Master Wok II dinner, we sat down, and when the waters came, I drank some, did not spit it back into my glass, but did remark that it tasted like hose water. I then ordered a diet soda, and that was the end of it.

I commented on the "shoddy" table and chairs? What is this, Home Improvement? I didn't even notice! As long as the chair held me and the table held my food, they were great.

Things went downhill, actually, when Pat himself made a comment about the table. It rocked slightly, but barely enough to even notice. He shifted it back and forth, though, and asked for my napkin to stuff it under one of the legs and stabilize it. Why my napkin? I couldn't guess, but it was replaceable, so I handed it to him.

Whatever he did made the problem worse, but he sat back up and said, "There. Fixed."

I tested it out, and my glass nearly fell off the table! "It's pretty rocky," I remarked, or something like it.

"It's fine!" he snapped, way louder than necessary, "I fixed it."

He hadn't, but I wasn't in a mood to argue. I remained silent until we put in our food orders. He ordered chicken and broccoli, as he said, but I ordered the sweet and sour chicken. No salad. As for me asking if they had veal (or making that rude "Do you have that in China" comment), he's nuts.

While we waited for our food, he said, "You're mad at me. I can tell."

I replied, "I don't think that was a nice tone you used before, after... working on the table."

"Terrific," he said, then sat back as if he had me all figured out, "Now you're going to be bitchy bitch for the rest of the night. There was a problem. I fixed it. You complain about it. Reminds me of some bosses I used to have. Is this a date, or am I out to dinner with my boss?"

Realizing that nothing I could do would make the situation more comfortable, I waited for a few minutes, then took out my phone, pretended to receive an emergency text, and hurried out of there before he could even ask me anything about it.

Did I send him that stupid email about finding veal? Of course not. Why would I ever want to interact with this bozo again?


(See Patrick's original post here.)

(Are you a writer? I've a new blog for that: jaredsinkwell.blogspot.com. Thanks for checking it out! - JMG)


Story Sent in by Patrick:

Jennifer and I talked online for a week before our first date. We got along fine, but there was some back-and-forth over the phone about where we were to go for dinner.

I said, "What kind of food do you like?"

"I love Chinese."

"Do you like Great Wall? That's a good place."

"Ugh. No. I had a bad sweet-and-sour chicken experience there."

I replied, "Okay, how about Master Wok II?"

"That's kind of just a hole-in-the-wall, isn't it?"

"No. It's a full restaurant."

"Oh. Well it sounds like a hole-in-the-wall, so no."

"Those are the only two Chinese places in town. I don't mind going out of town–"

"Let's do Italian. Do you like Fredo's?"

"Fredo's closed last year."

"What? No! Let me look that up..." She looked it up, then said, "You're right. They closed. I'm still really in the mood for Chinese."

"Master Wok II is our best bet. It's a bigger restaurant than Great Wall, and Great Wall's big."

"I don't want to eat at a hole-in-the-wall take-out place."

"It isn't one of those. It's a big restaurant. I think they have plants, fountains, and tapestries. Hole-in-the-walls don't usually have those."

"Fine."

The night of our date, she showed up on time, glanced into the windows of Master Wok II, and said, "Looks like a hole-in-the-wall to me. I knew it."

I led her inside to the anything-but-hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It was even bigger than I had remembered it. A host came up and took us to our seats, then left us alone.

Jennifer hit the side of her chair a few times. "These seats are shoddy. They must have found them in a bargain bin."

My seat was fine, or maybe I had lower seat standards. In any event, Jennifer then knocked on the table and asked, "You think this is wood or cheap Formica? The lighting in here is so dim that I can't tell."

I asked her, "Want to go somewhere else?"

"I want to go to Fredo's, but they closed. Thanks for informing me of that, by the way. It ruined my day."

"I wasn't the one who closed it."

Our waters came. Jennifer tasted hers and spit it back into her glass. "Tastes like it came from a hose," she complained. I resigned myself to accepting that she'd likely complain about everything the entire time, and that she'd throw everything I said or did back in my face.

"What would you rather be doing?" I asked her, "Since you don't seem to be having a good time."

"I'm having a great time," she said, picking up her fork and playing with it, "I'm having a ball."

Our waiter returned and asked for our food orders. She asked him, I'm not joking, for veal parmigiana. He informed her that they didn't have it, although they did have Szechuan beef. She slammed her menu closed and said, "I'll just have a salad. Iceberg lettuce. Do you have that in China?"

Throwing one last effort into it, I asked her, "What can I do to make this a better evening for you?"

She didn't answer me, but she took out her phone, typed something into it (it may have been a text. I'm not sure) and then she stood up, grabbed her purse, and said, "I've got to go. Goodnight!" and left me there with an order of chicken and broccoli and a house salad en route.

An email arrived from her later that night with the single line, "Found a good Italian place and had my veal!" Looking back, I'm glad we both got what we wanted.

Story Sent in by Sandra:

Jason and I were dating for a bit over a month when he invited me to his house for dinner. I planned to whip up a salad and he was cooking chicken and hash browns. There was ample space in his kitchen for the both of us, but he kept bumping into me, teasing me with a smile, saying, "Watch what you're doing!" and so on. No reason to think that it would be anything other than a great night.

Then, at one point, he sprayed a pan with spray-on butter. As I watched, he emptied close to half the can all over it. I asked, "Got enough of that in there?"

I was joking around, but then he turned the spray can onto me and sprayed it, full force, into my face.

I stumbled backward but he was relentless. Without a word, he came after me, spray can in hand, and kept coating me, mostly in my face, but ultimately all over with it.

"Stop! Stop!" I yelled, but he didn't. I was covering my face, but he tore my arms away and stuck the nozzle right in so that the butter shot into my mouth and nostrils.

I shoved him away, wiped my face with a napkin, and stood up from where he had pinned me against a wall. Then, he went at it again, and I picked up a nearby vase.

"Do it again, and I'll break this over your head!" I yelled.

He stepped back, gave me a look like I had killed his entire family, then said, "Leave. Now."

I went for the salad ingredients I had brought, but he stepped into my way and pointed toward his door.

I said, "I'm grabbing my stuff. If you keep them from me, I'll call the police."

He stepped out of the way, I grabbed my bowl, wiped my face with a dish towel, then booked it out of there and never heard from him again.