Very shortly after my 17th birthday I had my first real date ever: putt-putting with a boy I’d met from another high school. His mother and her boyfriend came to pick us up, but when we got to the mini-golf, they made it clear they weren’t going anywhere. So my first date, ever, was a double-date with my date’s mother and her boyfriend. Apparently, she didn’t trust her son to behave himself alone with a girl. Once we started to play I accidentally hit my date in the knee once with the ball, and once right in the gonads with the club on a mis-aimed backswing. Then we went to an adjacent restaurant for the standard burgers and fries fare. The thing was, the boy I was with didn’t have enough money to pay for his own food, much less mine. And his mother wouldn’t give him any. I wound up paying for the two of us, even though he’d been the one to ask me out. I naively kept dating him that summer, but before September I dumped him. He called my house two weeks later; my mother told him I wasn’t home. He told her he’d accidentally cut off a finger in woodshop class.
You have to kiss a frog or fifteen before you get to your prince/ss. That part of the bargain you accept, but when the amphibian turns out to be a deviant of sorts, stiffs you with the bill or herpes...My Very Worst Date is a commiseration of the moments when the sweet possibilities of romance turn into a sour struggle to get the hell out of the situation. We strongly believe that airing our (and other peoples) courtship disasters provides comedy, comfort and cautionary tales to bear in mind the next time you say 'yes' to drinks with a mysterious stranger.
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