Bad dates are good material.

In his online dating profile, he said he was 5′6″. Once he arrived at my favorite place, a tea house, I realized he was maybe that tall if he borrowed my heels. On email, he’d said he’d love to meet at this tea house, but when we arrived he said he hated tea and asked the waitress if they had beer (it was 11am, and they didn’t). I then ordered my favorite meal, which is their homemade sausage, and he told me he could “see the fat globules in it” so he didn’t understand how I could enjoy it. He worked in statistics, and I told him I’d taken it in college. He started demanding that I tell him the quadratic formula. I said I didn’t remember it because stats was so impossible, and then I tried to change the subject, which is when he talked over me to recite the entire equation.