Another terrible first date was with a classmate. Let's call him Chris.

Chris and I had been in several classes together over the years. I wasn't ever too impressed with him: a teenager in a 27-year-old's body, he was one of those arrogant and pompous people in class who has something snobby to say about everything. He wasn't even that attractive.

We finally started talking more when we had our final masters class together. I didn't know anyone in the class, so I always sat beside him. Consequently, we became friendly and he became the lucky recipient of my witty repartee at the expense of our other classmates. Let's just say, we bonded.

We began talking on Facebook, and though I certainly wasn't interested in him, I was newly out of a relationship and lonely. I wanted to go out and have some fun. Chris was an avowed partier. Twenty seven, lives with parents, no job, drinks every day... that type. So when he invited me out, I accepted.

My first mistake was my clothes. I entered the Outland, a bar in downtown Springfield. I was dressed as my normal cute self, complete with bouncy, curly red hair, trendy shoes, flashy red purse, and white, glittery top. Your typical 20-something college prep.  I entered a bar filled with smoke. Through the haze I nervously made out several hostile stares from every motorcycle gang member in the Springfield metro area. Women in black leather, bandanas, and mohawks stared me down as their tattooed boyfriends glared at me through bushy facial hair.  I tried to make myself very small as I waited for Chris.

When Chris arrived, sporting his usual Grateful Dead tshirt, he bought us drinks and proceeded to talk about... himself.  I sat, slumped over my drink, chin in hand, and stared with glazed eyes at an overhead clock as the seconds ticked by. He didn't even notice. Eventually I stopped being polite and responded only with vague, "Mmm-hmmm"s. He still didn't notice.

The crowning glory came about a decade (twenty minutes standard time) later. Still blissfully oblivious to my glazed expression, Chris turned to be and announced proudly--and I quote---"So, I don't know if you've noticed, but I've really been working out lately." It is important to note that while he said this, he actually flexed his arms.

This was too much. I snorted aloud, tried too late to catch myself, and ended up with a half-snort/half-cough and my hand clapsed over my mouth.
 

"What?" he asked, genuinely not understanding.

"Nothing," I gasped between my clenched fingers.

"Well," he continued blithely, whipping out his wallet and pulling his driver's license out, "I've seriously lost weight. Look how much better I look in this picture!"

I couldn't believe it. Was this guy for real? I thought I'd slipped out of the Outland bar and into a reality full of cliched expressions. It was too terrible to be true.

Gazing off into space, I tried needlessly to hide my boredom. "Mmm," I offered hesitantly, grasping for a conversation starter. "This band sounds good."

"What?!" he shouted, straining to hear me over the noise. "You think my hair looks good?"

It was beyond belief. I straightened my back, pulled out my phone to call a friend to bail me out of there, and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes," I replied seriously. "I think your hair looks good."