I don’t know whether to be super impressed with myself for setting a reminder or super annoyed I made a date in the first place. I think it’s a little bit of both. I consider canceling, pretty sure “I was shit-faced when I made this date” is a justifiable enough excuse. But seriously, it has been way too long and the date is already set. If nothing else, it’ll prevent me from spending the whole day wallowing. “Suck it up, Sadie. One date won’t kill you.”

I could be officially losing it, but I’m pretty sure the dracaena in the corner of my room nods in agreement.

Three

I’m most definitely running late for this date, but why the fuck did I match myself with some guy in Brooklyn? Oh yeah, because I happened to be drunk off my ass in Brooklyn at the time. Idiot. I finally manage to find the café and am at least partially mollified because it’s cute as hell. The walls are a robin’s-egg blue, and there’s a mural of flowers splashed on the brick.

“All right, Park Slope, you might be worth the hour travel time.” Stepping into the café, I look around for a hot, well-dressed man, because even if I can’t remember what this guy looks like, I most definitely have a type. I stroll to the back of the small space, then back outside to the patio, then back inside, checking all corners of the shop.

“Sadie?”

I hold in the groan as I turn to my left. Drunk me must have been real drunk.

But here we are. I put on a bright smile and cross over to the literal antithesis of every guy I’ve ever dated.

His eyes are hidden by black plastic glasses that probably don’t even contain prescription lenses. Between those and his unruly dark curly hair, only a sliver of his so-pale-he-probably-hasn’t-been-outside-in-months face is visible. He’s wearing ripped jeans and old Converse and, dear god, a Lord of the Rings T-shirt.

And he doesn’t even stand as I make my way over to the table, taking the time to swish my totally first-date-appropriate floral flowy skirt.

“Did you want to grab a drink first?” Still not bothering to stand and greet me, he gestures toward the counter.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I spin on my heel and sashay to the register, making sure he can fully appreciate how much effort some of us actually put into our appearance for this so-called first date. And I mean, I’m certainly cool with paying for my own coffee, but we could’ve at least had an introductory hug first.