Bad dates are good material.

I met a girl at a birthday party and sparks flew, so I asked her out for a drink afterward. Halfway through the night, she asked me about “the status of our relationship.” I stammered that we were just having our first drink, and that we should perhaps not call it a relationship yet. When she heard that, she started shaking, crying, and screaming. She yelled that I’d wasted her time and stormed out. I asked for the check and was paying when she stormed back in,  swearing at me. I ignored her and walked out to my car–she followed me, and when I unlocked the doors, she jumped in and refused to get out, demanding to know why I wouldn’t date her. When I eventually got her out of the car, she called me repeatedly until 2am, begging me to sleep with her and asking why I didn’t love her when it was so obviously right. My favorite part was when, in the bar, she stopped mid-scream, adopted an air of exaggerated patience, and started miming taking something out of a bag and placing it on her head. I was completely flummoxed until she explained that she was “putting on her psychologist’s hat,” and suggested that I was being held back by fear. She was right…the fear that she’d break into my house and decapitate my pets!