Date(s) From Hell
It sucks, but it happens
Written by Miriam Tanenbaum
If you’ve been in the dating world for any amount of time, chances are you’ve had some, shall we say… less than stellar experiences. And guess what, I’m just like you. I too have been scarred by the occasionally Ebolic cesspool of dating. Is “Ebolic” a word? When something is of Ebola? Shakespeare invented words too, you know. And William Shakespeare was also a lesbian Jew trying to figure out life and love in the big city. Am I relatable yet?
My “Date from Hell” is not so much a single date as it is instances from a myriad of them. In my experience, it’s rare that the entirety of the date is horrifying, and more that there is a moment or series of moments that ruin everything for everyone. That may not be the case for you, though. If you’ve had a date that is awful through and through, I hope you’ve at least managed to take some amount of enjoyment out of the awkwardness. That is true power. If you, by some minor miracle, have a date that actually goes well, you should exchange info on the Safely app. Or if that’s a bit far for now, check out some advice on how to kiss, right here.
I had a date with a woman (I’m a woman, I’m progressive like that) where some guy nearby on his skateboard wiped out in a pathetic reminder of why I’m a lesbian. She proceeded to quickly divulge her desire for a “skateboarding boyfriend” without so much as a touch of irony. Two quick disclaimers: 1) yes, this was actually a date, and 2) no, she is not Avril Lavigne. I responded “Well, you’re in the wrong place then.” We proceeded to eat pizza on a park bench in near silence for the next twenty minutes until semi-amicably calling it quits. The subpar Boston pizza was by far the best part of the experience.
On one of the few dates I’ve been on from an app, we met and very quickly both realized we were fundamentally not attracted to each other. For us, something from profile to life was totally lost in translation. Like if “Jaws” was called “Shark Munch Munch” in Italian. Coincidentally, as the date wasn’t so great, there was also no munch munch later that night. Blammo.
I made stupid jokes and gave the occasional, half-hearted sip of my mint tea, and in the end we hugged a permanent, if not very emotional, goodbye. It is likely that the greatest connection we had was mutually and silently deciding never to speak again. We were each always pleasant, but conversation was like trying to teach me rudimentary calculus. It just isn’t going to happen, and we should both stop wasting our time so I can go tell my cat about my latest failure.
It isn’t so much about the journey of the terrible date as it is the emotional trauma we found along the way. But chances are, we’re all going to keep on keeping on until we find someone who doesn’t make us deeply uncomfortable, or we can get multiple divorces trying.