It’s hard to believe it, but we’re almost at the halfway point of our Narratively x Belletrist True Romance Writing Prize (which, if you missed it, you can read more about here). With that in mind, we wanted to offer you a writing prompt to get your creative minds moving. Have you been thinking about submitting to our True Romance Prize but not sure you have a story to tell? Are you considering it but worried that you’re not good enough? We believe you do and you are! Submissions are open now through Thursday, May 1, for short essays and longer ones (again, read all about what we’re looking for and how to submit here).
So, for now, tell us about that night when you went out with someone for the first time and realized they had gone on a date with your sibling the night before… Or that time you accidentally sent your crush to the hospital on your third date, whoops! You can write one sentence, one paragraph or a whole stanza if that’s what you’re feeling. And, to sweeten the pot, we will send a $25 Tertulia gift certificate to spend on any book or on a Belletrist subscription, to the person whose comment gets the most “likes.” Share away!
This guy on the floor in college asked if I wanted to go to the beach. I was new to California and had only been to the beach once, so I said, “Sure.”
We had some things in common like we were both from the Midwest, which was cool, but I wasn’t really attracted to him. It was an opportunity to make another friend, see where it goes.
I was laying on the sand admiring the blue skies and ocean, when suddenly he was on top of me, straddling his legs across my stomach.
I was about to say, “Get off!” when he farted. Yes, like a trumpet. It was so loud that I could feel the vibration through his jeans on my belly. Did he soil himself? Immediately, he jumped off and scrambled away like a crab to his hole in the sand. And I was grossed out on so many levels.
After that, he avoided me when I saw him in the dorms, and I saw him as neither boyfriend nor friendship material.
On my first date with a musician named Andy, we were having beers at the Hopleaf in Chicago while he told me a story about buying a used car. When he reached the climax of the story—the price—Andy said, “And they really Jewed me down on it.”
My jaw nearly hit the table as I pointed out to this putz, “You know, Andy, my last name is Weinstein. Do you want to reconsider that last comment?”
He STILL tried to go home with me afterwards. He did not get a second date.
I believe I had the shortest Tinder date of all time. Without even saying hello when he arrived, the guy told me I was too white to be "Latina." I immediately thought: “And you’re too dumb to be human, but here we are.” I turned on my heel, told the waitress, "He’s paying for my beer!" and left.
It wasn't so much the lackluster first date that was awful, but the aftermath. It was my junior year in college, and I met this guy, who happened to draw one of the comic strips in our campus daily paper. We went out to dinner and a comedy show. I thought he was arrogant, and there was no physical connection at all. When he asked me out again, instead of telling him that I wasn't interested, I thought it would be easier on his ego if I explained that my circumstances had changed. It was true; the guy I'd had a crush on was suddenly available, and I planned to ask him out. My roommates and I watched in amused astonishment as the comic writer took his pound of flesh from me in the form of not one, but three days' worth of strips where his two characters eviscerated a recent date. There was no doubt that the girl closely resembled me. I saved those comic strips, and, nearly 30 years later, my kids get a laugh out of them.
I was in college and had never been on a dating app before and decided to give it a shot! I downloaded Hinge and matched with a guy. He seemed really sweet and nice with a gentle nature! We met at a beach and things were going alright so we decided to move the date to his apartment.
The first time he leaned in to kiss me, he bit down HARD on my upper lip. He got up to use the bathroom and I whipped out my phone to see the damage. To my horror, my lip swelled to three times its size and looked as if I got stung by a bee. I was so embarrassed but neither of us acknowledged the elephant in the room. For the rest of the night, the guy never made eye contact with me, his eyes were GLUED only to my swollen upper lip.
He was not as gentle as his Hinge profile made him seem.
I met someone on a Windjammmer Cruise to the Caribbean.. He was extremely handsome and charming. Although I saw him with a lot of other women during the trip, he did say that he hoped we could get together when we got back. We exchanged numbers and I heard from him a few weeks later. I flew up to Toronto, where he lived. On the way home from the airport, he said, ‘You know a lot of people say I look like Ted Bundy .’’
‘’ Ted Bundy, the serial killer ?’’ I asked innocently.
He really did look like him. It kind of freaked me out, but I tried to ignore it. At dinner, he said, ‘’Did you know that Ted Bundywas a necrophilliac ? ‘’
''That’s a butterfly collector, right? ‘’.
‘’No, it’s someone who sleeps with corpses’’
I suddenly lost my appetite. This was getting weird.
On the way home, he said, ‘'You know, Ted Bundy decapitated the heads of twelve women he killed. He washed their hair, put make up on them and kept them on a shelf. Oh shit, what had I gotten myself into? When we got back to his apartment, I had to pee. When I was in the bathroom, I couldn’t resist. I checked out his medicine cabinet. You can always tell a lot about a person from that. On one shelf, there was women’s make up, lipstick, mascara, eyeliner and eyeshadow. I panicked. No one even knew I was here except for my best friend, Robin. I flushed the toilet to make some noise and called her. Her first words after I told her what was going on were, ‘ ’Get the hell out of there!’’ The minute he fell asleep, I called a cab, and snuck out of the house. I slept at the airport, with one eye open and one foot on the floor and took the first flight out in the morning.
Was I that desperate to meet someone, that I flew to Toronto to spend the weekend with a total stranger? Someone I knew nothing about. Someone that could be a serial killer?
After a very long and committed relationship, I was single for a year in 2017/18. I had close to no knowledge of dating grammar, so I dived into the dating apps world with freight and curiosity. I matched with a guy who described himself as a philosopher and electronic music composer, living in the northern part of my relatively small city. We chat, he's intriguing, and we decide to meet up for a drink. I pick my bar of choice in a busy and lovely neighborhood.
I arrive at the date, and no one's there. He texts shortly after, claiming the traffic is stuck as it's the design week (a very big event), and he lives on the opposite side of town. Of course, it's my fault because I picked THAT bar. I wait 45 minutes for him. When he finally gets to the bar, he says a quick hello to me (we had never met before) and proceeds to talk to the bartender for a good 15 minutes, asking him all about his mixology trick, saying he is a mixologist in training too. After all this showing off about spirits and mixers, he orders a plain old beer. Ok. The conversation between us is dull and lukewarm. He keeps complaining about the distance to the bar. I'm tempted to make up an excuse to escape the situation, but I don't give up. I tell him about my job as a music journalist, about my travels. He says he hardly leaves his place, which is not in town but far in the greater metropolitan area (hence the traffic and the delay). At the end of the extremely bad date, he gets to the cashier, asking how much his beer was. I pay for both of our drinks. Saying goodbye, he greets me with "We should meet again, you have useful contacts in the music industry, I can make use of those". I had learnt before to always go to my date by bike so that I could avoid unwanted lifts and rides home. Never felt happier to pedal home on my own.
Are we doing this here? Alright then. 1993, just back from my stint in the Peace Corp I was living in a tiny shared apartment on the lower east side of New York. It was filthy hot August and I spent a lot of time hanging around in the park as a slightly cooler alternative to the hellish temperatures of our tiny rooms.
Sitting around reading among the rabble who occupied the park during the day I met a real Nineties Grrrrrl. She was multi-ethnic, multi pierced and heavily tatooes. She sat with me and we flirted a bit and then she invited me for dinner at a hip place just down the street from my place, chic southern fusion cuisine.
I got there before she, got a table and sat drinking a beer. When she walked in with the evening light raking across her. She was smoking hot and it should have made me wonder what the hell she was doing there with me. By the time the Entree came I found out.
Before our blackened catfish arrived a disheviled but movie handsome nieghborhood guy came straight from the door to our table. He was yelling in Spanish, some I understood most I didn't but the message was pretty clear.
The two cursed each other for a minute and then his attnetion turned to me. He spat at me and then luanged with something his hand just as I was standing up. We fought for just a bit when he turned to run and I found that I was cut straight across the throat.
It came to me llater that she was having problems with this ex boyfriend who was keen on drink and cocaine and knowing he was jealous and that was his favorite resteraunt she invited me there as a way to clear him off.
I was taken to Belle Vue hospital for twenty six stitches in my neck and some interesting interviews with the police. Never saw her again and never got to taste the cat fish at that resteraunt.
I was renting a closet in a share house, the kind of place you end up when you have no money and tell yourself it doesn’t matter. The room was hardly big enough for a bed.
He was fifteen years older than me. I had once been his intern. He came to pick me up one evening and we went for a drink. The night was easy — one of those rare occasions when you believe, briefly, that you might yet become someone else.
When he dropped me home, he left the engine running. He said he had lived there once, with his fiancée. She had been an artist. Not long after they moved in, she was diagnosed with cancer. He watched her die in the house.
Later I found out the room I lived in had been hers, or a place where she kept her things. Some of her drawings were still hidden behind the walls. I gave them back to him.
He wrote a book about her. It made him famous.
I stayed with him for three years. I left him for a woman. We no longer speak.
I waltzed up in my cute but winter-appropriate outfit, scanning those idling on the street, knowing one of them would be my date. Heart beating, I was giddy to meet the cute guy with an adorable dog that I matched with on Hinge.
As I approached the bar, I saw a man right in front, heart beating even faster now. With barely much time to process, I instantly knew that this man could not be my date. Surely not, because this man was wearing a hoodie and *sweatpants*. Now I always prefer looking better than my date, but this was different. Who shows up to a date looking like they just got right out of an 8am class?
We made reluctant eye contact and I half smiled when he question-said my name. I greeted him with my extroverted charm, making sure not to comment on his attire.
First dates are meant to be icebreakers, so I told myself to not be so shallow and converse with the man. He revealed himself to be a Marine, who started his undergrad career in his early 20s. Regardless of my first impression upon seeing him, he was not someone that I'd usually go for due to my opinions about his vocation. But our conversation was flowing nicely, and I'm an expert chatter, so we continued the date.
More than halfway through, I had a sudden, and mortifying realization.
It was Veteran's Day.
Upon making the connection, I blurted "Oh my God, Happy Veteran's Day!" and he gave me a pitiful smile acknowledging my well-intentioned yet belated wishes. His outfit made more sense to me. He's used to wearing a uniform so his wardrobe is limited. Apparently even for first dates.
The date ended shortly after that. The next time we saw each other was a couple of months later, while I was on a run in Riverside Park. He was wearing the exact same sweatpants he donned on our fateful date and embellished his appearance by walking his cute dog with a petite woman accompanying him, arm around his.
We gave a glance to each other, both placing each other in our heads before I ran past. I chuckled, somewhat incredulous at the sighting, but also pleased. Pleased that even though it didn't work out for us, I got a good story out of it and he became one step closer to finding love.
I was fixed up on a blind date. The pitch was solid, 'He works for a bank here in Los Angeles. Good guy." I thought I'd give it a go. He picked me up at my house -- not something I normally do on a first date, but with my friend's endorsement it seemed i could break one of my first date rules. He said we were going downtown for dinner. Then he started talking about how dangerous LA was, and that he needed to be armed all the time. He reached under his seat and pulled out a gun. I don't know what kind it was -- it fit in his hand. The hair stood up on my arms. I had never before been up close and personal with a gun. I asked him to stop the car right on the freeway, got out and thumbed a ride home. I didn't know the driver but anything was safer than the blind date.
I had just broken up with my college BF and was living back home. This was in the late eighties.
Since my ex was a bit of a snake I had trust issues but was willing to give dating a whirl. A guy responded to my Personal Ad and we hit it off. He seemed normal. They all seem normal from a distance.
On the night of our first date he was supposed to pick me up at 6 p.m. I looked wicked cute in my Laura Ashley dress and was psyching myself up for dinner and some post-dinner kissing. It had been a while.
6 p.m. came and went and the dude never showed. I changed into jeans and called my girlfriend. I’d meet her for a drink. As I was walking out the door the phone rang. “Hello,” I answered. “Is this Jen?” Yes, it was me. “I’m so sorry about tonight. You won’t believe this but I was arrested on the way to your house and now I’m in jail. Is there any way you can bail me out? I know that’s a lot to ask.”
Needless to say I declined his request and went out with my friend instead. Arriving home later I was surprised to find a huge bouquet of roses on my doorstep. They were from the jail dude. How and where he managed to pick up flowers on a Saturday night was a mystery. The card read, “I broke out and came by to try again.” Poor guy. Poor me. It was the worst date that never happened.
nothing as dramatic as a hospital visit or (potential) incest adjacent but he did take me to an Outback and pay with a buy 1 get 1 free coupon. It was the first time I had that internal monolog in my head like in a romcom and thought, "How do I get out of this unscathed?"
This guy on the floor in college asked if I wanted to go to the beach. I was new to California and had only been to the beach once, so I said, “Sure.”
We had some things in common like we were both from the Midwest, which was cool, but I wasn’t really attracted to him. It was an opportunity to make another friend, see where it goes.
I was laying on the sand admiring the blue skies and ocean, when suddenly he was on top of me, straddling his legs across my stomach.
I was about to say, “Get off!” when he farted. Yes, like a trumpet. It was so loud that I could feel the vibration through his jeans on my belly. Did he soil himself? Immediately, he jumped off and scrambled away like a crab to his hole in the sand. And I was grossed out on so many levels.
After that, he avoided me when I saw him in the dorms, and I saw him as neither boyfriend nor friendship material.
On my first date with a musician named Andy, we were having beers at the Hopleaf in Chicago while he told me a story about buying a used car. When he reached the climax of the story—the price—Andy said, “And they really Jewed me down on it.”
My jaw nearly hit the table as I pointed out to this putz, “You know, Andy, my last name is Weinstein. Do you want to reconsider that last comment?”
He STILL tried to go home with me afterwards. He did not get a second date.
I believe I had the shortest Tinder date of all time. Without even saying hello when he arrived, the guy told me I was too white to be "Latina." I immediately thought: “And you’re too dumb to be human, but here we are.” I turned on my heel, told the waitress, "He’s paying for my beer!" and left.
It wasn't so much the lackluster first date that was awful, but the aftermath. It was my junior year in college, and I met this guy, who happened to draw one of the comic strips in our campus daily paper. We went out to dinner and a comedy show. I thought he was arrogant, and there was no physical connection at all. When he asked me out again, instead of telling him that I wasn't interested, I thought it would be easier on his ego if I explained that my circumstances had changed. It was true; the guy I'd had a crush on was suddenly available, and I planned to ask him out. My roommates and I watched in amused astonishment as the comic writer took his pound of flesh from me in the form of not one, but three days' worth of strips where his two characters eviscerated a recent date. There was no doubt that the girl closely resembled me. I saved those comic strips, and, nearly 30 years later, my kids get a laugh out of them.
Dating Rule #1: Never break a writer's heart. It will come back to haunt you!
Glad you get a laugh out of it though :)
So true! It might be one line buried in a story that no one will ever read, but I, too, relish occasional revenge writing. It's cathartic.
My kids think I'm a comic book villain...
I was in college and had never been on a dating app before and decided to give it a shot! I downloaded Hinge and matched with a guy. He seemed really sweet and nice with a gentle nature! We met at a beach and things were going alright so we decided to move the date to his apartment.
The first time he leaned in to kiss me, he bit down HARD on my upper lip. He got up to use the bathroom and I whipped out my phone to see the damage. To my horror, my lip swelled to three times its size and looked as if I got stung by a bee. I was so embarrassed but neither of us acknowledged the elephant in the room. For the rest of the night, the guy never made eye contact with me, his eyes were GLUED only to my swollen upper lip.
He was not as gentle as his Hinge profile made him seem.
I met someone on a Windjammmer Cruise to the Caribbean.. He was extremely handsome and charming. Although I saw him with a lot of other women during the trip, he did say that he hoped we could get together when we got back. We exchanged numbers and I heard from him a few weeks later. I flew up to Toronto, where he lived. On the way home from the airport, he said, ‘You know a lot of people say I look like Ted Bundy .’’
‘’ Ted Bundy, the serial killer ?’’ I asked innocently.
He really did look like him. It kind of freaked me out, but I tried to ignore it. At dinner, he said, ‘’Did you know that Ted Bundywas a necrophilliac ? ‘’
''That’s a butterfly collector, right? ‘’.
‘’No, it’s someone who sleeps with corpses’’
I suddenly lost my appetite. This was getting weird.
On the way home, he said, ‘'You know, Ted Bundy decapitated the heads of twelve women he killed. He washed their hair, put make up on them and kept them on a shelf. Oh shit, what had I gotten myself into? When we got back to his apartment, I had to pee. When I was in the bathroom, I couldn’t resist. I checked out his medicine cabinet. You can always tell a lot about a person from that. On one shelf, there was women’s make up, lipstick, mascara, eyeliner and eyeshadow. I panicked. No one even knew I was here except for my best friend, Robin. I flushed the toilet to make some noise and called her. Her first words after I told her what was going on were, ‘ ’Get the hell out of there!’’ The minute he fell asleep, I called a cab, and snuck out of the house. I slept at the airport, with one eye open and one foot on the floor and took the first flight out in the morning.
Was I that desperate to meet someone, that I flew to Toronto to spend the weekend with a total stranger? Someone I knew nothing about. Someone that could be a serial killer?
You betcha!
do Ipost my story here?
Hi Laurie! We'd love to read about your worst date here, and then if you want to submit a full piece to the Narratively x Belletrist True Romance Writing Prize, you can head here: https://www.narratively.com/p/narratively-belletrist-true-romance-writing-prize Looking forward to hearing your stories!
After a very long and committed relationship, I was single for a year in 2017/18. I had close to no knowledge of dating grammar, so I dived into the dating apps world with freight and curiosity. I matched with a guy who described himself as a philosopher and electronic music composer, living in the northern part of my relatively small city. We chat, he's intriguing, and we decide to meet up for a drink. I pick my bar of choice in a busy and lovely neighborhood.
I arrive at the date, and no one's there. He texts shortly after, claiming the traffic is stuck as it's the design week (a very big event), and he lives on the opposite side of town. Of course, it's my fault because I picked THAT bar. I wait 45 minutes for him. When he finally gets to the bar, he says a quick hello to me (we had never met before) and proceeds to talk to the bartender for a good 15 minutes, asking him all about his mixology trick, saying he is a mixologist in training too. After all this showing off about spirits and mixers, he orders a plain old beer. Ok. The conversation between us is dull and lukewarm. He keeps complaining about the distance to the bar. I'm tempted to make up an excuse to escape the situation, but I don't give up. I tell him about my job as a music journalist, about my travels. He says he hardly leaves his place, which is not in town but far in the greater metropolitan area (hence the traffic and the delay). At the end of the extremely bad date, he gets to the cashier, asking how much his beer was. I pay for both of our drinks. Saying goodbye, he greets me with "We should meet again, you have useful contacts in the music industry, I can make use of those". I had learnt before to always go to my date by bike so that I could avoid unwanted lifts and rides home. Never felt happier to pedal home on my own.
Omg, this is hilarious, Guia! Hope you're still in touch, lol. 😉
Are we doing this here? Alright then. 1993, just back from my stint in the Peace Corp I was living in a tiny shared apartment on the lower east side of New York. It was filthy hot August and I spent a lot of time hanging around in the park as a slightly cooler alternative to the hellish temperatures of our tiny rooms.
Sitting around reading among the rabble who occupied the park during the day I met a real Nineties Grrrrrl. She was multi-ethnic, multi pierced and heavily tatooes. She sat with me and we flirted a bit and then she invited me for dinner at a hip place just down the street from my place, chic southern fusion cuisine.
I got there before she, got a table and sat drinking a beer. When she walked in with the evening light raking across her. She was smoking hot and it should have made me wonder what the hell she was doing there with me. By the time the Entree came I found out.
Before our blackened catfish arrived a disheviled but movie handsome nieghborhood guy came straight from the door to our table. He was yelling in Spanish, some I understood most I didn't but the message was pretty clear.
The two cursed each other for a minute and then his attnetion turned to me. He spat at me and then luanged with something his hand just as I was standing up. We fought for just a bit when he turned to run and I found that I was cut straight across the throat.
It came to me llater that she was having problems with this ex boyfriend who was keen on drink and cocaine and knowing he was jealous and that was his favorite resteraunt she invited me there as a way to clear him off.
I was taken to Belle Vue hospital for twenty six stitches in my neck and some interesting interviews with the police. Never saw her again and never got to taste the cat fish at that resteraunt.
Holy s$!t, John!! This is wild!
Thats just the tip of that story. Still have the scars.
Truly wild. Also, what restaurant?! Dying to know…
I assume it's long gone, it was called Old Devil Moon, on E12 between A and B ( I think, might have been first and A).
Literally I asked because I was picturing Old Devil Moon. LOVED that place/def long gone!!
looked it up, seems they only closed in 2002, but there was also a a menion of BKLYN so did they open a new place cross the river. makes sense?
!!! Love this, and not surpised you knew the exact place, J!
I was renting a closet in a share house, the kind of place you end up when you have no money and tell yourself it doesn’t matter. The room was hardly big enough for a bed.
He was fifteen years older than me. I had once been his intern. He came to pick me up one evening and we went for a drink. The night was easy — one of those rare occasions when you believe, briefly, that you might yet become someone else.
When he dropped me home, he left the engine running. He said he had lived there once, with his fiancée. She had been an artist. Not long after they moved in, she was diagnosed with cancer. He watched her die in the house.
Later I found out the room I lived in had been hers, or a place where she kept her things. Some of her drawings were still hidden behind the walls. I gave them back to him.
He wrote a book about her. It made him famous.
I stayed with him for three years. I left him for a woman. We no longer speak.
so it was a good date?
I waltzed up in my cute but winter-appropriate outfit, scanning those idling on the street, knowing one of them would be my date. Heart beating, I was giddy to meet the cute guy with an adorable dog that I matched with on Hinge.
As I approached the bar, I saw a man right in front, heart beating even faster now. With barely much time to process, I instantly knew that this man could not be my date. Surely not, because this man was wearing a hoodie and *sweatpants*. Now I always prefer looking better than my date, but this was different. Who shows up to a date looking like they just got right out of an 8am class?
We made reluctant eye contact and I half smiled when he question-said my name. I greeted him with my extroverted charm, making sure not to comment on his attire.
First dates are meant to be icebreakers, so I told myself to not be so shallow and converse with the man. He revealed himself to be a Marine, who started his undergrad career in his early 20s. Regardless of my first impression upon seeing him, he was not someone that I'd usually go for due to my opinions about his vocation. But our conversation was flowing nicely, and I'm an expert chatter, so we continued the date.
More than halfway through, I had a sudden, and mortifying realization.
It was Veteran's Day.
Upon making the connection, I blurted "Oh my God, Happy Veteran's Day!" and he gave me a pitiful smile acknowledging my well-intentioned yet belated wishes. His outfit made more sense to me. He's used to wearing a uniform so his wardrobe is limited. Apparently even for first dates.
The date ended shortly after that. The next time we saw each other was a couple of months later, while I was on a run in Riverside Park. He was wearing the exact same sweatpants he donned on our fateful date and embellished his appearance by walking his cute dog with a petite woman accompanying him, arm around his.
We gave a glance to each other, both placing each other in our heads before I ran past. I chuckled, somewhat incredulous at the sighting, but also pleased. Pleased that even though it didn't work out for us, I got a good story out of it and he became one step closer to finding love.
I was fixed up on a blind date. The pitch was solid, 'He works for a bank here in Los Angeles. Good guy." I thought I'd give it a go. He picked me up at my house -- not something I normally do on a first date, but with my friend's endorsement it seemed i could break one of my first date rules. He said we were going downtown for dinner. Then he started talking about how dangerous LA was, and that he needed to be armed all the time. He reached under his seat and pulled out a gun. I don't know what kind it was -- it fit in his hand. The hair stood up on my arms. I had never before been up close and personal with a gun. I asked him to stop the car right on the freeway, got out and thumbed a ride home. I didn't know the driver but anything was safer than the blind date.
Date brought me a huge pineapple that I had to carry around through a meal and movie.
A fan of “Cabaret” I assume?
haha!!
Wow, LOL'd. I mean, it's more practical than flowers I guess!
It was SO scratchy!
Perfection!
Haha omg. That's a classic move.
I had just broken up with my college BF and was living back home. This was in the late eighties.
Since my ex was a bit of a snake I had trust issues but was willing to give dating a whirl. A guy responded to my Personal Ad and we hit it off. He seemed normal. They all seem normal from a distance.
On the night of our first date he was supposed to pick me up at 6 p.m. I looked wicked cute in my Laura Ashley dress and was psyching myself up for dinner and some post-dinner kissing. It had been a while.
6 p.m. came and went and the dude never showed. I changed into jeans and called my girlfriend. I’d meet her for a drink. As I was walking out the door the phone rang. “Hello,” I answered. “Is this Jen?” Yes, it was me. “I’m so sorry about tonight. You won’t believe this but I was arrested on the way to your house and now I’m in jail. Is there any way you can bail me out? I know that’s a lot to ask.”
Needless to say I declined his request and went out with my friend instead. Arriving home later I was surprised to find a huge bouquet of roses on my doorstep. They were from the jail dude. How and where he managed to pick up flowers on a Saturday night was a mystery. The card read, “I broke out and came by to try again.” Poor guy. Poor me. It was the worst date that never happened.
nothing as dramatic as a hospital visit or (potential) incest adjacent but he did take me to an Outback and pay with a buy 1 get 1 free coupon. It was the first time I had that internal monolog in my head like in a romcom and thought, "How do I get out of this unscathed?"
Haha. Love this, Jerry! Did that coupon at least get you a Bloomin' Onion?
bloomin onion would be so declassé for a gay right? I believe we just did hunks of meat 😉
LOL