In an age when a “date” could be considered anything from watching Netflix and spooning to showing up to a party in the same vehicle, I’ve maintained my old-fashioned beliefs of what a date should actually entail. That being said, I will always say yes to a date, no matter how strange the evening is presented. Sure, I may have to put up with a guy who wears Chacos and believes Nickelback is a legitimate excuse for a band, but hey, I get a free meal and a few funny stories out of the ordeal.

In an instance that I wish I’d managed to avoid, however, I was escorted on the worst date of my life to a boy’s sister’s wedding…unknowingly.

That’s right. I had literally no idea.

I met the kid in my meteorology class. That should’ve been a sign right there, because the only non-Greeks who take meteorology are doing so not out of desperation to rack up some science credits for gen ed requirements, but out of legitimate interest in rocks and other weird shit. Regardless, he seemed nice, and though he pronounced “mature” with a hard T, I still thought he was cute in a potentially well-endowed, GDI sort of way.

So when he asked if I wanted to go out the weekend after next, I thought, “Hmm, that’s an oddly specific and distant proposal,” and “I wonder if he likes Mexican food.” I told him yes, and he informed me that I should wear a dress, as we were going to a nice place. This should have been my second indication of his ulterior motives.

So the day finally comes, and he texts me that he’ll pick me up around 4 o’clock–sign number three, that I, of course, also overlooked. I’d completely forgotten about our plans, and though my nasty hangover made it tempting to cancel, I felt too bad. I thought, “What’s a quick early dinner? I’ll be back around 7, and then I can burrito myself in my comforter and sleep off last night’s saki bombs.” I ran a brush through my hair, caked on another layer of half-assed makeup, and threw on my roommate’s dress. Voilà, date ready.

He picked me up, and I’m like “Damn, he really dressed up for this shit. He must be really into me.” We started driving, and after about 20 minutes, I asked where the hell we were going. He paused and said, “Uh, the place is kind of far away. We’re kind of taking a road trip.” He shot me this weird little side smile, and though I suddenly felt like Liam Neeson’s daughter in “Taken,” I shrugged and looked away.

Fast-forward an hour, and I’m just like, what the fuck is going on here? I had started pestering him, and though I knew the kid was totally harmless, I wasn’t letting up. He finally admited to me, “So…my sister is getting married tonight…”

I just about shit a brick. I told him to turn the car around and take me home. He told me it would be a quick wedding, and that he just really needed a date. I swear, boys are so fucking dumb. He had literally no idea that weddings are by invitation only, and that there would obviously not be a place setting for me since, you know, I WASN’T FUCKING INVITED. He just kept reassuring me that his family wouldn’t mind, that they would love me, and that we would have fun. It took every fiber of by being to resist the urge to punch him in the dick.

Allow me to recap my top 10 favorite parts of the wedding:

1. When his mother told everyone I was this kid’s girlfriend.
2. When he admitted to a groomsman what he’d done, and the groomsman felt so bad for me that he let me chug half the whiskey in his flask.
3. When his grandmother told me I was a “handsome woman.”
4. When a crowd of middle-aged aunts insisted I join the other girls trying to catch the bouquet.
5. When I ate four pieces of cake to try and make the evening somewhat enjoyable.
6. When those four pieces of cake made me sick and I dry heaved into a toilet.
7. When he tried to hold my hand under the table and I told him to eat a dick.
8. When I was judged for not bringing a gift for the happy couple.
9. When there was no place setting for me, so I had to eat where “Uncle Gary” would have sat, had he not been too sick to make it.
10. When we got lost on our way home and I started crying because my stomach still hurt from all that damn cake.

There’s no happy ending to this story. I didn’t have an awesome time, I didn’t laugh about it in the following weeks, and I won’t tell our future children about it because seriously, fuck that kid. The only thing I got from that date was a heavy load of anxiety and a nasty sugar crash. From now on, I require a full itinerary before agreeing to go on a date. .

Nice Move570

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