Bad dates are good material.

I met my internet date for a drink, and though we chatted about regular things like our hobbies and jobs, something still seemed “off” about him (and no, it wasn’t just that he was cross-eyed, so when he spoke to me, one eye was looking at me and the other out the window). Then he asked, “Do you have a life plan?” I said that I basically knew where I wanted my life to head but I wouldn’t really call it a plan per se. “I have one,” he said. “Want to hear it?” he asked. This was it: “In two months, I’m going to take you to New York. While there, I’m going to propose to you. In March we will get married and by this time next year, our anniversary, you will be impregnated with my baby.” I looked at him, gobsmacked. All I could manage was, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” and I snuck away. A few minutes later, when he must have realized I’d gone, I got a text from him asking if the reason I ran off was because he was wearing a red shirt, and offering that next time he could wear blue.