Coffee Talk: Bad Dates Make the Best Stories

“How much worse can it get than finishing dinner, having him reach over, pull a hair out of my head and start flossing with it at the table?” —Sally Albright, When Harry Met Sally // written by Nora Ephron

One good thing comes from a bad date. Once you get over the trauma of someone flossing with your hair, you may realize that you have a great story to share at cocktail parties and girls nights. So now that the work week is coming to an end, pour yourself a cup of coffee and tell us all about your worst date. We’ll start!

Danielle’s Worst Date:
I met a handsome guy while out shopping with friends. He asked me out and I said no, but my friends gave him my number anyway. He called me that day and told me he’d been thinking about me which completely freaked me out, but I agreed to have dinner with him. I got all dressed up, and we met at a restaurant. He showed up in a jumpsuit. A one piece just-got-out-of-prison or finished-painting-a-house jumpsuit. I tried to look past it, and we sat down to dinner. The conversation was awkward at best, so when my friends called with an “emergency” I told him I had to go. Don’t judge. I was only 19! I thanked him for dinner and was on my way. He called later that night and left a message telling me how he thought it was rude that I didn’t take my salad to go and said that he hoped he would never see me again. Needless to say, he never did.

Alaina’s Worst Date:
The worst date I can remember happened this past summer… it was the second time I was out with a guy. We went to a trivia night with a group of people (so I guess it wasn’t technically a date) and afterward we decided to head back to have drinks on my deck and enjoy the beautiful summer weather. On the walk back, we stopped to pick up a bottle of wine but given we had already drank quite a bit at the bar, he ended up dropping the full bottle of wine as we were standing out the check-out. Don’t worry. The bottle didn’t break. My foot so generously cushioned the blow, as the bottle landed square on my baby toe (I was wearing sandals). The entire grocery store went silent and everyone looked at us… my tipsy self was worried we’d get in trouble for dropping merchandise. The store was worried I’d sue them for getting injured on the premises. I kept saying I was all right, we paid for our wine, and hurried on out of there… me moving as quickly as I could despite my limp and quickly swelling foot. Somehow we got in an argument a few blocks later, he hopped in a cab, and I had to escort myself home. That’s right. Walking alone. At night. Talk about a gentleman… Fortunately, I made it back safely and had the chardonnay to drink away my sorrows and ease the pain. The worst part is I decided to date him for two more months after that. Ladies, don’t ignore the red flags. They are red for a reason!

photo via The Fine Art Diner

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