So I’ve decided to start documenting my dating escapades.

I mean, if I’m going to suffer, I might as well bring you guys along with me, right?

*All names are changed for anonymity. I’m not a total monster.*

Parker: The One That Wouldn’t Get Away

So I met Parker on Tinder. This is how a lot of these stories are going to start. My apologies in advance. #tinderwarriorforlife

I actually matched with Parker a couple years ago. We followed each other on Instagram, and that’s where our love story started. Except, we never actually spoke to each other after. So it’s also where our love story ended. 

Or so I thought.

We matched again recently. And so our love story began again.

As did my nightmare. 

Our initial conversation via text was great! He was witty, and our banter was genuinely making me laugh. 

We exchanged emails! It was a hilarious bit, and I was already bragging about him to my friends. 

When he asked if I was free to grab a coffee within the next hour, I was stoked. A funny man who takes initiative–and quickly, at that. In between doing my foundation and filling in my eyebrows, I was looking at wedding dresses. Parker was going to be the one.

We met at an adorable coffee shop a little too close to where I grew up, but that was okay. Surely, all the baristas that saw me going on other dates there over the years didn’t work there anymore. So, yeah, it was fine. 

He paid for my drink, a small and to-be-expected gesture that still makes me feel special. (Listen, I’ve gone on entirely too many dates where the guy didn’t pay–something I never thought to be a big deal until I recounted the events to my concerned friends, whose shock and disgust was palpable through their facial expressions alone.)

The conversation didn’t flow as smoothly as it did over text, but, you know what? That was okay. It was a first date, and who doesn’t get a little nervous on a first date?

It was choppy. It was quiet. I asked him things, and he gave me very short answers without asking me anything about myself in return. Perfect!

While we were searching the air, our pockets, our drinks, anything for conversation, he got a work call that ended up being so long, we went to his car. I got the luxury of hearing him work, which is what every girl dreams of on a first date. (No hate to him, sometimes you just have to take a work call!)

Once he was finally freed from the shackles of an angry client, he asked if I wanted to go mini-golfing, you know, since we were already in the car. 

I wasn’t having that much fun with him, but this is where it would all change, right? 

I have the survival instincts of a can of sardines, so of course I agreed to let this man, who I had known for all of an hour, drive me to a secondary location. Because, I mean, let’s be real–it’s mini-golf. Who wouldn’t risk it all for mini-golf?

The town I live in had a hilariously run-down amusement center. (Spoiler alert: it actually closed down shortly after my date with Parker. There’s gotta be something to be said about that.) It had mini-golf, go-karts, and a particularly sticky arcade. 

On the 20-minute drive there, he released any and all inhibitions. Not sure what made him feel so free, but I had a feeling I should be scared. Were we actually going mini-golfing, or was he taking me to his secret dungeon? 

He started talking about his job much more thoroughly. And all the potential he had for moving up in the industry. And when that happened? We would be living large.

Yes, you read that right. Suddenly, there was a we. 

“I’m going to buy you your dream car–what is your dream car, anyway?”

We can’t be serious right now.

“Our wedding is going to be crazy. Anything you want, I’ll pay for it.”

WEDDING? Yeah, we gotta pack this up. 

After many awkward, disengaging laughs to avoid the talk of our upcoming nuptials (totally normal conversation to have with someone you’ve known for all of three hours, by the way), we got to the amusement center. I was just happy we weren’t pulling up to his murder cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

When we got inside, the realization that something was off was only solidified by the way Parker spoke to the arcade attendant. He wasn’t mean, but this was almost worse: he would not stop making the worst jokes to this poor worker. The worker wasn’t laughing, I wasn’t laughing, Parker wasn’t even laughing. But for some reason, he just would not stop. 

The silence after every failed joke bounced off of the tiled walls and floors, probably sticking to the grimy arcade games. 

I wish I could remember everything Parker said; I truly had to block it from my memory. Just know I had to apologize to the worker when Parker was out of earshot. It was that bad. 

The Part Where We Mini-Golfed

I am comically bad at mini-golf, but that’s what makes it fun! I was having a great time, missing shots that a blind rat could’ve pushed in with its nose. He, however, was not finding the humor in it.

He was getting… angry? He was genuinely upset that I was so bad at it. I simply could not tell you why he was so mad about it; a normal person would probably find it funny, no?

After a point, he decided to use my lack of skill to his advantage. After I missed one-too-many shots, he said: “alright, every time you miss, you have to kiss me.”

You best believe I upped my ability right then and there. 

But, eventually, I missed. My heart dropped. I wanted to throw up. Someone, anyone, call the cops. Do something. 

And, yes, I could have just told him no. But that is yet another skill I have yet to master. Side note: don’t be like me. Say no if you feel uncomfortable with something. 

He started leaning in, and it felt like he was moving in slow motion. I, however, wanted nothing more than for it to be over. So I moved in double time, closing the distance between us with the world’s quickest kiss. Easy. Over. I didn’t throw up. 

Except that was when he decided that, no matter if I missed the shot or got a hole-in-one, I’d have to kiss him. Which made me incredibly confused–did he think I enjoyed that kiss? It was all of .0005 seconds, and I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. 

But I suppose a theme of that date was him missing social cues. 

Wouldn’t you know? Suddenly, I was exhausted. We played enough holes already, I felt. I was almost certain I left my oven on at home. And would you look at that? My mom was calling, and she needed me home immediately, despite the fact that we don’t live together. 

Parker drove me back to the coffee shop where my car was. No more kisses (thank God!) but, somehow, more talk about us getting married, having kids, buying a home together. Because, again, that’s just what you talk about on a first date. 

I couldn’t get home fast enough. I peaked in my rearview mirror every three minutes just to make sure he wasn’t behind me. When I got home free–I mean, home safe, I texted him and thanked him for a fun night. And I hopped in the shower and scrubbed every molecule of him off my body. 

The Nightmare Continues

Parker would not stop texting me after–big surprise there. I’m not one to ghost (intentionally, at least), so I told him that, after our date, I realized I wasn’t in the place for any new connections, and I wished him well.

Except, he didn’t quite get it. 

He continued to text me, asking about my day, asking if I’d go to the gym with him, asking about matching Halloween costumes?

I told him, yet again, that I wasn’t in the headspace to continue speaking. 

Which, to this day, has not fully settled with him, as he continues to text me. 

So, safe to say, my dating life continues to be a hell of my own creation.