Please Write “Death By Excruciatingly Painful First Dates” On My Tombstone

Please Write “Death By Excruciatingly Painful First Dates” On My Tombstone

“That’s so exciting!!”

The text I’ve seen flash on my phone every time I tell my long distance bestie that I have a first date coming up. But, I wasn’t excited. I never am. I am anxiety ridden. Panic stricken. I get that feeling of when you are almost asleep, and then in a split second you are falling off the Grand Canyon to your death. First dates are NEVER exciting. Even if you do actually like the guy. First dates are the exact opposite of exciting. First dates are awkward, terrible, and will be what puts me six feet under, I am certain.

“What are you guys going to do?”

God, I don’t even know what I am supposed to do with myself, let alone with someone I am meeting for the very first time. The answer to that question is actually pretty easy. We are going to try to come up with 10 conversation topics that I’m really not interested in, drink until the awkwardness becomes somewhat manageable, and then I’m going to leave. That’s exactly what we are going to do. It’s not exciting or fun, it’s miserable. The ideal date would be to stay in our sweatpants, sit on the couch and eat some pizza, but those things, which I am most passionate about in life, has now become the theology of “Netflix and chill,” the implications of which, I am not down with on the first date.

“You have to be open-minded!”

And the thing is, I am pretty open minded. I believe that love can hit you right in the face when you least expect it during your one night stand. But I am also not naive to the fact that everyone I meet on Bumble ends up being weird as fuck and I would rather not HAVE to endure the painful one to five awkward silences that come along with the territory of first dates. I have been on approximately twelve first dates in the past two years, only three of which have resulted in second dates. And let me tell you, even if the first date was bearable, the second date, was not.

“Are you gonna kiss him?”

Am I gonna kiss him? No. First of all, I will never make the first move on a new guy. Second of all, is it weird that I don’t want to kiss a stranger on the second date? I don’t even know his social security number or dating history yet and I’m supposed to make out with him? So now that there’s all this pressure on whether or not I should allow him to swap saliva with me at the end of our Moscow Mules, I can’t even focus on the date itself because I don’t know if he has the Zika virus. And then, it happens. He kisses you and all the little sociopaths in your brain are screaming “NOOOOO.” And you pull away quickly, say “bye” as fast as the words could be uttered, and you move along.

“You have to give it a chance!”

I never take this advice. I have to give pain and suffering and truly terrible experience a chance? I REALLY have to go out with the guy who’s idea of getting to know me was asking if I had ever been to any state fairs???? I have to sit at a table, avoid eye contact and nervously cross my legs every twenty-five seconds because I HAVE to “give it a chance?” First dates, second dates, and third dates quite frankly just take too much time and energy when I can be in my bathtub listening to John Mayer with my Yankee candle. I can get out, alone, and sit in my robe, in my bed until I do actually die. That sounds more like true love to me.

Out of the twelve first dates, and three second dates I have been on, one lucky guy has made it to the third date stage. And things are actually going okay. I don’t hate my life when he’s around. Oh yeah and he’s also a doctor. Cheers to a fourth date.

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