My Worst Date Ever

Original art by the amazing Craig Boldman (craigboldman.com)

Willa liked blues dancing, playing her guitar, and had a great sense of humor. Most of our time together thus far had been pleasant. When that early February came around, Willa and I had been together for about two and a half months. We thought it would be nice to take a weekend trip up to New Hampshire and Vermont. We'd visit small towns, maybe stay at a B&B, maybe go on a winter hike, and simply enjoy New England winter. Willa parked her car at where I was living in a Boston suburb and we took off together in my car.

Something you ought to know about Willa was that she had previously told me that she had assaulted a police officer (and had been to court as a result), so perhaps I should have heeded that screamingly stentorian warning bell.

But I didn't!

That first day we stopped at Walden Pond, then drove up to Brattleboro, Vermont. We enjoyed the town, visited a coffee shop, and the local art museum. Then we headed north.

We stayed overnight in a cozy hotel and the next day we planned to explore northern Vermont. We picked out a park and made for it, thinking that it would be fun to go on a hike for as long as we could, then find a little mom 'n pop cafe to warm ourselves by a fire.

My car had plenty of gas and heat, so we made for the park in good spirits. But we couldn't find the park entrance. Up and down the road we drove, but the park entrance simply eluded us. It had to be somewhere, so I kept exploring around the local roads.

As for Willa, she became increasingly agitated. "Where is it?" she asked, "How come we haven't found it, yet?"

Those questions didn't help me find it any faster, so I kept driving. Willa sighed and said, "You know, if I was driving, we would've found it by now. How come we haven't found it? Where is it? This is ridiculous."

I turned to her and said, "You know, you're stressing me out a bit, here. We'll find it."

Then she gave me the iciest stare in the storied, freezing history of icy stares. "I'm 'stressing you out'? Are you–are you fucking serious? I'm stressing you out?"

I replied, "A little, yeah. But I'm sure we'll find the place. We'll–"

"Who the fuck do you think you are? I'm stressing–I'm stressing you out? I'm stressing you out? Who the fuck do you think you are? How dare you fucking say that to me, you fucking piece of shit."

Hmm. Now she was stressing me out a bit more, but I opted to not say anything about that. I just wanted to find the park and hopefully go on our hike and enjoy what I could of my time with the increasingly psychotic basketcase.

She continued, "How dare you fucking say I'm stressing you out. You're a fucking asshole. No wonder you run a bad date site! They're probably all about you! Fucking garbage. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you."

Surprise! We found the park! I pulled into the parking lot. We were the only car there. I parked and asked Willa, "Would you like to go for a hike?"

She pulled out a book and said, "Fuck you. I'm gonna stay here and read. Fucking asshole. I'm 'stressing you out.' Piece of shit. Go fuck yourself."

Should I turn the car off and allow her to sit in the cold or should I leave it on so she could stay warm? Seeing as leaving it on would require me leaving the key with a psychologically deteriorating nutjob, I opted to turn the car off and take the key with me. I went on a brief hike, maybe 15 minutes tops. It was my hope that when I returned to the car, Willa would have clicked her temper down from 11 to anything less than 11. But that didn't happen. No, indeed. In fact, Willa had clicked it up to 12.

She greeted me with, "Drop me off at a gas station. I don't even want to fucking be with you anymore. I'm fucking stressing you out? We'll fucking see who stresses who out!"

This was Vermont in the middle of the winter. We were three hours north of Massachusetts. There was no way I was leaving her up there. I essentially resolved to drive us back to my place, where her car was, and if she wanted to throw bitter vitriol at me the entire time, I could take it. At this point, I really wanted her out of my car and out of my life.

"Pull over at a gas station. I'm fucking serious. I don't even want to spend one more fucking minute with you. Fucking piece of shit asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are, you piece of fucking shit? Bring me to a gas station, goddamn it. I don't want to spend another minute with you, you fucking disgusting thing."

"Let me just take you back to your car. Then we can just–"

"Fuck you. Drop me off at a fucking gas station right now!"

By this time we were driving through a small town. There was a red light before me so I had to stop. When I did, Willa opened her door, grabbed her bag, and took off down the sidewalk. When the light turned green I pulled over in the first parking spot I found, turned the car off, and searched for her up and down the street.

I didn't find her so I hopped back in my car and called her phone.

Ring. Ring.

On the seat next to me, her phone rang. In her haste to leave, Willa's phone had fallen out of her pocket. I had no way to reach her or find out where she was. I scrolled through her phone contacts, found her father's number (I had met her father before. He was a good guy) and I called him up to explain the situation to him and let him know that I was likely going to have to leave his daughter stuck in the middle of Vermont in the winter with no plausible way to make it home.

"Please, please, please don't leave her there," he implored, "She has to eventually figure out that the only way she's going to get home is with you. Just stay with your car and wait for her to come back and try to get her to see reason. Please."

I liked her father, and he had always been nice to me. He lived a couple of states away so I really was Willa's one and only shot at making it home. I took his advice and waited for her to return.

Sure enough, Willa came back. I asked her, "Will you ride back to Boston with me? We'll just go straight there and I'll bring you to your car–"

"Give me my fucking phone, you fucking piece of shit," was Willa's response.

I gave her her phone and she stormed down to an Amtrak station that was close by. The whole time I tried to introduce some reason into her life. "Willa, please come back down with me. We'll go straight to your car. We won't stop. Let's just go."

"Go fuck yourself," was her reply.

A train came by shortly thereafter and Willa jumped onto it with her bag. She asked the conductor, "Is this train going to Boston?"

The conductor replied, "It's going through Springfield," which is not at all near Boston.

Willa stepped off the train and the train chugged on. She then took out her phone, called a couple of friends, and commanded them to come pick her up in Vermont. From what I could hear, they said, "Why don't you just ride back down to Boston with Jared?" She hung up on them and called her father. "Dad, come pick me up in Vermont."

Her father said, "Jared called to tell me what's going on. You need to stop behaving this way right now and get back in the car with him."

Willa laughed and said, "Jared called you? Of course he did! Of course Jared fucking called you!" she hung up on her father, turned to me, and said, "You need to get the fuck out of here before I call the police and tell them you're stalking me."

At that I returned to my car, called her father and said, "I'm done, here. She's clearly unhinged and I don't really want to be a part of this, anymore."

Her father said, "Please don't leave her up there. I know she can be difficult. But please don't leave her up there. She'll have to eventually figure out that you're her only way out of this situation. Just go somewhere and grab a bite to eat and she'll eventually come around. She'll have to. Please."

Ugh. Again, her dad was a nice guy who had always been hospitable to me. Plus, I knew he was right. I went to a pizza place for an hour and relaxed a bit.

Then, her text came: "All right. You win."

Hooray! I win! I went out to my car and there she was. She said, "I'll ride back with you, but you have to understand that you can't go telling people that they stress you out. That's not cool, and I won't take that sort of shit."

It dawned on me that she was completely remorseless. Indeed, in her mind, I and I alone was apparently to blame for the day's unfortunate festivities. It occurred to me in the same instant that if I wanted to finish things as neatly as possible, it would be necessary for me to placate her and acquiesce completely.

"You're right," I lied, "I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing for me to say in the first place."

She nodded. "Good. Now we can go."

I was pretty sure that if I did anything on the way back to raise her ire even in the slightest, she'd jump out of my car, even if I was going 70 on the highway. Placate, placate, placate. Just get her back to her car and–

She said, "I forgive you for talking to me like that. Even though you tried to ruin our day, I think we should still go for a hike."

I replied, "Nah, that's okay. Let me just bring you back to your car and–"

"I really want to go on a hike."

"No, we really don't–"

"I want to go."

"Okay."

We went southeast and crossed into New Hampshire. We found a snowy mountain and went on a little hike. The whole time, I pretended that everything was okay and that I was truly sorry for the horrible way I had purportedly treated her.

We finally arrived back in Boston and I parked. "Have a safe drive back home," I told her.

She said, "I want to spend the night. I'm exhausted."

Ugh. Fine. We went right to bed and in the morning I walked her to her car. She said, "I'll see you soon, right?"

"Of course you will."

She drove back to her home and I blocked her on Facebook. She likely was quick to realize that I was cutting her out of my life and she wrote me a final email in which she actually apologized for her behavior. That was nice. I didn't respond.

There are those who say I should've left her in Vermont. There are those who say I should've stuck it to her more firmly. To them, I'd say that a life without me is verily the very worst nightmare I can inflict upon anyone.

*

This is the last story I plan to post on the site (why?). The site will remain up for the foreseeable future and I'll be around to check out any posted comments. If you have a bad date story you'd love to share, feel free to comment on this post and share away (content policy still applies). You can also join this Facebook group to commiserate with me and fellow fans. If you're actually interested, you can keep up with my zany adventures at jaredmgordon.net.

Thank you so much for being a fan of A Bad Case of the Dates! Now and always, I hope you find love and laughter. And hopefully, someday, a good date.

-JMG
12/31/2017

Go Loud and Go Home

Story Sent in by Sara:

Cal wrote to me over a dating site. I read his profile and it was full of humorous ramblings, so that was kind of refreshing from how seriously a lot of guys took themselves. In one section he had written that he had "volume dissociation syndrome." When I wrote him back I asked him about it and he said that it simply meant that he sometimes had trouble controlling the volume at which he spoke, as if he'd be chatting and he just couldn't tell how loud he was talking. Was it a joke? Maybe. I decided it would be fun to meet him.

We met in a public park and at first everything went great. He kept me laughing and he was pretty charming and he spoke at a regular volume. It was nice. We took a walk and he was quiet for a minute or so and then he turned to me just as a kid was riding by on a bicycle and yelled, "EVER HAVE SEX?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Uh... yes," I said, but quietly, in an attempt to hopefully bring his volume down somewhat.

"WHAT WAS THE SEX LIKE?" he yelled, loud enough for the people down the path to hear.

They turned toward us and I became a bit embarrassed. I replied, "Uh, it was fine. Can we talk about something else?"

"Okay, sure," he said in a normal voice, "We can talk about SEX!"

"How about we don't?" I asked, desperate to talk about anything but.

He apologized. "I'm sorry. It's my volume dissociation. I seriously sometimes can't hear myself talk so I overcompensate."

I told him that it was okay and I changed the subject to asking him about work. He was some sort of editor for an eBook company and we talked about that for a while.

I asked him, "Which was your favorite book to edit?" and he replied, "Probably a science one. I learned a lot. WHAT WAS THE SEX LIKE?"

I said, "I already told you. It was fine."

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU DONE IT?"

"Like four or five, all right?"

"I HAVE DONE IT NO LESS THAN SIXTY TIMES."

"Great. Okay."

"AND BY 'DONE IT' I MEAN ACTS THAT ARE SEXUAL."

"Thanks, Cal. I got it. Thank you." I then glanced at my phone and said, "Oh, crap. I'm late for a... thing. I have to go. Right now."

"IS THE 'THING' SEX?"

"No. I just have to go. Bye!" and I practically ran my way back to my car in the parking lot and drove home. I didn't hear from Cal ever again.

*

The next post will be on Sunday.

My Favorite Posts

Greetings!

Happy holidays! A Bad Case of the Dates is closing on Sunday, December 31st (Why? Click here). On that day, I'll post my worst date ever. Since we started up, we've had over 4,600 posts. Some stand out for me. In no particular order, here are some of my favorites. Share yours in the comments!

Welcome to Guys
A wedding. A strange aroma. Hilarity ensues.

Sounds Better Than What's at the Box Office
Hapless children encounter a horse with a weight problem.

The New Romance
Yum.

Prepare to be Boarded
Rated arrr.

Don't Ask What She Called Her Entree
Yum. Again.

Dick Dock
Read it. But I'm not telling you what to do.

Be Careful Whom You Stalk
There are some people you shouldn't stalk. Namely everybody. But this guy in particular.

Seems Like a Catch, Except for That One Detail
What happens when you leave your profile up at the Apple Store.

Splitsville
Ouch!

Heroine
Bring tissues.

"Welcome"
Bring more tissues.

The Ring of Truth
My real-life friend Chris actually used this actual site to actually propose to his now-actual wife!

Which have been your favorites?

-JMG

*

The next post will be on Friday.

Dog Day Evening

Story Sent in by Teena:

On a cold winter evening, Joel brought me to a local botanic garden that had holiday lights on display. Dragons and elves and Santa, it was all superb. Afterward we went to a coffee shop and he ordered us a couple of hot chocolates.

We chatted for a while and talked about old friends and growing up and silly little things like that. Then he told me about his friend, Kyle. Kyle, Joel said, was eaten by dogs when they were very young.

Joel said, “Someone in the neighborhood had these dogs and someone let them out one day. They went right to Kyle’s house where they caught him playing outside and they ate him.”

I was horrified. Joel said, “They caught only one of the dogs afterward. The rest of them are still out there, somewhere.” He shuddered.

I said, “They must be dead by now. How many years ago was this?”

“It happened when I was six.” Joel then stood up and ordered himself another hot chocolate. He then sat back down next to me and said, “I’ll need another if I’m going to tell you the full tale.”

He then went on about how he and Kyle were great friends and always slept over at each other’s houses and played video games and always hung out together and so on. He then said, “And I feel really guilty because I’m the one who let the dogs loose. I was just playing around but I had no idea that they’d kill him. I’m carrying that with me for the rest of my life.”

He cried a little bit and I didn’t know what to think. I asked him, “Did you get in any kind of trouble?”

Joel said, “You can’t prosecute a six-year-old. His parents tried to sue my parents but a judge threw it out.”

I felt pretty ill at that point. I wasn’t sure if Joel was being honest or not. If he was, I was out on a date with a killer. If he had made the whole thing up, it was in very poor taste.

After a little bit he said, “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

We walked for a little bit down some suburban streets and he stopped at a fenced-in, three-story house. He turned to me and said, “This is where is happened. Kyle died here. It’s said he died screaming my name.”

“JOEL!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. A guy, all in black but with bloody-looking bandages, ran out at us from around the side of the house.

I screamed as he ran right at me but I stood my ground and as he reached out to me I whacked him right in the face with my purse.

The guy, whoever he was, stumbled back and yelled on about his face. Joel ran to his accomplice’s side and yelled at me, “What the hell? He was just joking! What’s your problem?”

The guy grunted and groaned and I took that opportunity to walk away. I was shaken up but ultimately proud of myself for standing my ground. I even let myself laugh about it a bit. As for Joel and his weird friend, who might have been Kyle for all I know, I didn’t hear from them again.

*

The next post will be on Tuesday.

But It Had Fist Germs on It

Story Sent in by George:

I met Clara at a bakery. She worked there, making cookies and cakes. I had been in there a couple of times and thought she was cute and so I finally mustered up the courage to ask her out.

On our first date she gave me a nicely wrapped box. I opened it and found that she had given me a little cake with my name on it, written in red icing. Or at least, I think it was supposed to be my name. In big block letters she had written "GERM."

I told her how thoughtful it was and joked, "Dare I ask what's in it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I said, "It says 'GERM.' Is the filling influenza or bubonic plague?"

She looked at it and then looked back up at me. She said, "That's not how you spell your name?"

I said, "G-e-o-r-g-e. It's really okay. I'm touched that you'd make me something."

She punched the cake and shoved it back at me. "There now! Is it all fixed?" she shouted, then wrung out her hand, as it had cake bits all over it. "Now I've got cakey crap all over my hand! And red icing! Thank you!"

I took her out for coffee to cool her down a bit but that was our only date. I actually did eat what was left of the cake afterward, as she had made it for me. It was great, even if she was completely off her rocker.

*

The next story will be posted on Friday.

And You Two Deserve Each Other

Story Sent in by Elle:

Charlie and I had been together for several months. We'd frequently stay over at each other's places and had settled into a cozy, fun routine. Sometimes, he'd be away on business trips for a few days at a time and I'd stay over at his apartment. One time, when he returned, I surprised him with some play harnesses we could use to tie each other up. Charlie was into it immediately.

That first night we had some fun. We started with him tying me up and then I tied him up. We enjoyed ourselves and we fell asleep, exhausted.

The next day, I had to be out early for work so I hurried out of bed, threw on clothes, made enough breakfast for both of us, and left him sleeping.

I sent him some flirty texts during the day and he didn't respond, which was a little unusual. But he was probably busy and I'd be seeing him that evening, so I wasn't really concerned.

When I came home, I went into my bedroom. There he was, his arms and legs still tied up from the night before. In my morning haste, I had forgotten to free him. And he was dead.

Kidding! He was really hungry and thirsty, though. And he had peed the bed. I freed him immediately and he ran for the bathroom. Then I made him a quick meal.

He put on some clothes, ate what I made him, drank all the grape juice I had in the fridge, thanked me, and said, "I got my revenge on you. See you soon," and then left in a hurry.

I wasn't sure what he was talking about until I stepped into my bathroom. A horrible odor almost knocked me off my feet. He hadn't used the toilet at all. He had used my shower as a toilet. Gross! That was going a bit overboard, but thankfully I never forgot to untie him again, he never crapped in my shower again, and now we're married.

*

The next story will be posted on Tuesday.

Closing Up Shop

Greetings!

A Bad Case of the Dates is closing. Ad rates have plummeted, I've become much busier with my own writing work (a comedy pilot script I wrote was recently optioned!), and it's no longer cost-effective to run the site. I'll keep posting twice a week until I close for good on December 31st of this year. BUT! I'll leave the site up for the foreseeable future so you can come back and revel in the archives. I'll also be around to read the comments.

If you're a Patreon patron then big thanks to you. You kept us going these last few months. I've reverted the Patreon to patron-only, which means that the last payment that went through should be the last one you'll be charged. You might want to head over to patreon.com to make sure that you're no longer listed as a patron, anymore.

Since I started ABCotD in August 2009, I'm thrilled to have seen this funny little site featured on Huffington Post's Seven Sites You Should Be Wasting Time on Right Now, the Washington Post (twice!), NBC, and even good 'ol AOL.com. Most importantly, I'm grateful to the regulars and especially the friends I've made off of the site. Making and maintaining such a wacky repository of bad date stories was worth it if it meant meeting you. Aww.

The site's last post, on December 31st, will feature the very worst date I've ever had. I've been saving it for a special occasion.

Of course, if you ever have a bad date story you simply MUST tell me, email me at abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com. I'd love to read it! If you're actually interested in my further adventures, you can always visit jaredmgordon.net to see what hijinks I have in the pipeline.

A hundred thousand thank-yous for the years of laughs and support. Thank you for being a fan. And if my site has brought a smile to your face, well, that's really the very best thing of all.

Aside, perhaps, from a good date.

Love,
Jared

*

There's a new bad date post below! The next one will be posted on Friday.

Oven and Done With

Story Sent in by Jackson:

Sasha and I were out on our very first date and we asked ourselves a string of questions about each other. It was very much like "truth or dare" without the dare part. Then Sasha upended things by saying, "Dare me to do something."

I said, "Uh... what should I dare you to do?" It was a first date and I figured she wouldn't be comfortable doing something sexy.

She said, "I dunno. Dare me to eat a whole pizza."

She was a very slender girl and I didn't think she'd be able to eat two slices, let alone eight. I said, "I dare you to eat a whole pizza."

She led me to a nearby pizzeria, ordered a large cheese pizza, and asked me to pay for it. She said, "If I'm eating the whole thing for you, you've gotta pay for this."

I paid, the pizza came out, and she did indeed eat the entire thing, slice by slice. I couldn't believe it. Then she said, "Dare me to eat a dozen garlic rolls."

"No," I said, fearing for her intestines.

She said, "Then I get to dare you something: I dare you to go stick your head in that pizza oven." She pointed to the metal pizza oven behind the counter.

I said, "I'm not going to do that."

She yelled, "I just ate a whole pizza for you! And you won't do this for me?"

I said, "One of those two things puts one of us in immediate life-or-death danger."

She said, "I'm gonna be on the toilet all night, thanks to you! And you seriously won't do this for me? Even for a second?"

"I'm sorry. No."

Sasha clammed up after that. We walked out of the pizza place together but then she hurried off on her own, so I guess the date was over. Thankfully.

Better Red Than Dead

Story Sent in by Cora:

Bart arrived on our first date in an old t-shirt and jeans, covered with bright red spatters. I knew that he was a painter, so that explained why, although that didn't necessarily excuse why he looked like a serial killer.

"I was in the studio and lost track of time," he explained.

Fair enough, but he attracted a lot of strange looks. We were out to lunch at a crowded cafe and he really did stick out. During our talk he'd blurt out, "I'm not a killer," loud enough for people nearby to hear. I think he did it because of how he looked. But if anything I think that made him stick out even more.

After lunch he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. There were films out we both wanted to see so we agreed on one and we went to the theater and he paid for the tickets. I thanked him and I waited for him at the concession stand as he went to the bathroom.

He took a while and came back right around when our movie was starting. He told me, "These guys in the bathroom were bothering me so I told them I was a killer and they had better leave me alone. That's why I wore this, today. But anyway they said they'd call the cops so if we're thrown out of the movie I just want you to know that it's not my fault."

I didn't know how to take that so we went into the theater and sat down with everyone else. Sure enough, about 10 minutes into the movie, a pair of ushers came in with flashlights and they looked down each row and when they came to us they asked Bart to go with them. He went calmly and I just stayed there and watched them take him away. But then I felt guilty and so I left the theater shortly afterward.

Out in the lobby I didn't see Bart or the ushers who had taken him so I went to customer service and asked them where Bart was. They girl behind the desk said that she didn't know. I called Bart's phone and sent him a text but he didn't write back. So I went back into the theater to watch the rest of the movie.

I called Bart again that night and he picked up. He told me that they had told him that he couldn't wear his red-spattered clothing inside the theater. He had then offered to take off his clothes and go nude, and they then told him to leave. He ranted about how no one understood artists and painters and asked me over to his place for that night. I turned him down and he didn't call me again.

*

The next post will be on Tuesday.

Lock 'n Knock

Story Sent in by Rico:

Kerri and I were together for around a month when she called me up on a Tuesday night in a panic: "I'm locked out of my apartment and I'm naked!"

My first impulse was to ask her how it had happened but I understood that time is of the essence in such circumstances. She told me that she would wait for me in her building stairwell and so I grabbed a spare blanket and rushed over to her place, across town.

When I arrived and made it to the stairwell, there was no sign of Kerri. I called for her and then went to her apartment. She wasn't there so I called her phone. She picked up and asked, "What's up?" as calm as calm could be.

"What's up?" I repeated, "Last time we spoke you were naked and locked outside your apartment. Where are you?"

She said, "Oh. I got one of my neighbors to open the door. He's here now and I made hot cocoa and we're sort of cuddling, I guess. Speaking of which, I have to go. Toodles!" and then hung up.

I listened at her door for a bit and heard her laughing and talking inside with a guy. Not really content with the way things had worked out, I thought about knocking on her door but then had a better idea. I went back to my car and grabbed a paper clip that I had in my glove box. I bent off a straight piece from it, returned to her door, and slid it into her lock. Then I left.

Less than a half hour later I received a text from her: "DID U DO THIS TO MY DOOR???" I didn't respond and then a couple of minutes later I received, "U R WORSE THAN EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA! AND I'VE HAD EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA!"

I'll take her word for it.

*

The next post will be Friday.

Date Number Two

Story Sent in by Madison:

Roger took me out to lunch and then to a local museum that I hadn't been to since I was little. He was a nice guy who kept the conversation going and at the end of the date he asked me if he could see me again and I told him that he absolutely could.

We chatted over email and over the phone over the next week and a half and arranged date number two. We agreed to meet at a nearby seasonal carnival and I looked forward to walking around it, going on rides, and eating lots of fried dough. Mostly, I looked forward to seeing Roger again.

So you can imagine my surprise when a guy who had to have been almost twice my age (and twice my weight) lumbered over to me at the carnival where I waited and said, "Hey Madison. Good to see you again."

I had never seen this guy before in my life. I asked him who he was.

"I'm Roger," he said.

This guy was definitely not Roger. He was a different person. He was older, taller, larger, and even had a different voice than the Roger I had previously seen. I said, "You're not Roger. Who are you?"

He sighed and said, "This sometimes happens. I look one way some weeks and then look different other weeks. But I'm Roger. Go ahead and ask me anything about our first date or the emails we've written and I'll answer it."

I couldn't even believe that I indulged this guy, but I asked him what my favorite show was (we had had a long conversation about it), my favorite books, and the first two things I tried majoring in when I was in college (we had also spoken about that at length).

This guy, whoever he was, not only got everything right - he also volunteered extra details that I had discussed with Roger. I was totally losing it. The only explanation I could come up with was that Roger had told this guy everything about what we had talked about and was trying to gaslight me to some sort of extreme lengths. But I couldn't have it. I told the guy that I had to leave, and despite his claims that he was Roger (he definitely 100% wasn't - not even a little bit), I did indeed take off. I mean really. He looks different on different weeks? That was the best he could come up with?

*

The next post will be Tuesday.

Not Okay

Story Sent in by Phillipe:

Jo and I were out to dinner together on our first date. We were eating our pasta when she accidentally kicked my leg under the table. She apologized and I said it was okay.

She then kicked me again, two more times. Hard. I must have shouted some expletive and she said, "You said it was okay! Why would you say it was okay if it wasn't okay?"

"I was forgiving you for kicking me. Not giving you the green light to kick me again. Are you some stupid child?"

"No!" she shouted, then slammed a fist into her own pasta. spattering it all over her hand, the table, and even her nice blouse. She then stood up and stormed to the restroom. I hoped that she wouldn't come back to cause a further scene, but she outdid my hopes and didn't come back at all. On the downside, when I returned to my truck after finishing dinner, she had covered the hood and the driver's side door with shaving cream.

Blackest Friday

Story Sent in by Cara:

I went to high school with Henry and he and I had dated here and there and made out a few times. The summer after we had graduated high school we hung out a lot and promised to stay in touch when we went off to college, and we did. When Thanksgiving break rolled around, he asked me if I wanted to go to the local strip mall on Black Friday. I liked people watching and so I was all in.

Our first stop was a pet store. Neither Henry nor I had any pets so I wasn't sure what he was doing in there. He led me down the chew toy aisle, grabbed a few stuffed toys, and shoved them down his pants.

"What're you doing?" I hissed at him. The guy was shoplifting in plain sight.

He said, "C'mere," and then grabbed me tight and kissed me. Then he said, "Next," and hurried out of the store.

He then led me into a bookstore, went down the sci-fi aisle, grabbed some paperback books, and stuffed them down his pants. "I'm holiday shopping," he explained to me right before grabbing me and kissing me again.

"You're shoplifting," I said.

"Quiet! You want people to hear? The point is for them to not know I'm doing it. What do you want?"

I said, "I want you to stop shoplifting."

He replied, "No, I mean what do you want for Christmas? Let's go get it. Now."

I said, "I want you to stop stealing from these stores."

He said, "A big-screen TV? Some really nice book? An iPhone? Just pick something."

I repeated, "I want you to stop stealing."

He said, "That's it? That's all you want for Christmas?"

"Yes."

He shrugged, said, "Okay," and pulled all the stuffed things and books out of his pants and left them in a pile in the aisle. He then said, "Find your own way home," and hurried away from me.

"I drove here myself!" I called after him. I then put the books back on the shelves and brought the stuffed toys (with some explanation) back to the pet store. For all I know, Henry went right back to those places on his own and re-stole everything, but at least he wouldn't do it with me in tow.

Franksgiving

Story Sent in by Dino:

I hadn't been dating Willa for too long when we invited each other to each other's family Thanksgivings. We stopped by her family's dinner and then went to mine. I had a long-time friend from grade school who always held a Thanksgiving cookout in his backyard with hot dogs later in the Thanksgiving evening, so I asked Willa if she wanted to join me for that. She said she did and so we went.

We were already pretty full from our families' dinners but went mainly just to hang out with friends. Willa seemed to be just fine on our way there and even when we arrived. My friend greeted us with open arms and with hot dogs. I accepted mine gratefully. Willa, though...

"What's that?" she asked.

"A hot dog," my friend said.

Willa said, "For Thanksgiving? Where's the turkey?"

I had told Willa that this would be a hot dog cookout kind of thing. She knew what to expect and had seemed fine with it on the way over. But she apparently wasn't fine with it anymore. My friend said, "I have some turkey dogs I can cook up, or some veggie ones if you want."

Willa said, "If there's no turkey, it's not Thanksgiving!" She then upended the plate that my friend held out for her, sending the hot dog to the ground. She then yelled at my friend, "You ruined Thanksgiving!" and stormed out of the backyard.

I was left to embarrassingly run after her and ask her what was wrong. She said to me, "You bring me to a place on Thanksgiving that doesn't even have turkey? Are you insane?"

Was I the crazy one, here? I had told her at least a couple of times that this was going to be a hot dog cookout. And I reminded her of that. She told me, "You sound insane. Listen to yourself! Where's the goddamn turkey?"

I offered turkey dogs to her, but she wasn't having it. She demanded that I take her home and so I did. Then I went right back to my friend's place and enjoyed what I could of the time that I had.

The next day, Willa emailed me a friendly message as if she hadn't gone nuts the day before. I decided to not write her back until she apologized to me for her behavior. It's been about eight years, so I'd say my chances of that apology are pretty low.

Drone and Groan

Story Sent in by Claire:

Jeff asked me out on a date to a big park where he was going to show me his camera drone. He showed me the controls and I played around with it a lot, myself.

He retook the controls and told me to stand still and spread my legs a little bit. I was in a dress that went down to my ankles and he controlled the drone to a hover above the ground and tried to sail it between my legs.

I stopped him right there. "A camera drone between my legs? I don't think so." I laughed, trying to make his creepy request seem like a joke or whatever. I thought I was giving him an easy out. Perhaps even a way to recover.

Instead he said, "It's a first date so I know we won't go all the way. So I should get just a little something, right?"

I laughed, less with humor and more with pity. I told him, "I don't think so."

He then rammed the drone into my right ankle. It hurt! I jumped back and kicked at the drone. It fell to the ground. Jeff cried out and ran for the drone and yelled, "You're paying for this, swine!"

I said, "Make me. I'll say you tried to fly it up my skirt. Which you did." He then grabbed his drone and stormed away. Not long afterward, he emailed a "bill" to me for $7,000 for his drone plus "emotional suffering." I laughed a final time as I deleted the email and blocked any further messages from him.