Bad dates are good material.

After dinner, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and I wait…and wait and wait. He finally comes back, and I ask if he’s ok; he says he’s fine. We head back to my apartment to hang out and he goes to the bathroom again. I wait and wait and wait again. He finally comes out and I ask him if he’s all right. He says he is. After he left, I discovered the wads and wads of toilet paper shoved in the corner, I guess because he was too embarrassed to flush the toilet over and over? Of course I never called him again.