Bad first date story
I wrote this very short story for a Valentine’s Day writing competition. I didn’t win, but I should have! Enjoy, and Happy Candy Day!
Tale of a First Date
He was taller than I had imagined, and when he went in to hug me hello, I couldn’t help but notice his eyes were the same color as mine- a soft brown. Brought on by chance, we both knew the beginning wouldn’t be an easy start, but here we were, hoping to turn this into something that could work.
He had a slight cough that made his voice more raspy, but was so eager to meet he didn’t want to put it off any longer, insisting it was just a seasonal allergy. His eyes glimmered with excitement as we sat together in the park. The start of summer had officially begun and we both couldn’t have been happier to be outdoors after having been stuck inside all day, counting the hours until freedom and weekend possibilities.
This wasn’t my first time on the park bench of a first encounter. My history of relationships ranged from long lasting connections to nightmarish stories in which I would later turn into amusing tales to be shared at parties with friends. But I was hopeful, which is why I was here taking yet another chance.
Would I have still gone on that warm day had I had known my life would shortly flip flop upside down as a result of this first meeting? Most days I would say yes. But soon after, things had indeed changed. My social life had a new focal point, my gym routine vanished to make up for more “us” time, and my beautiful one bedroom Lincoln Square apartment that was once known for its spotlessness was now turned into a home for the smell of something that belonged in a zoo. But despite the smell and the changes my narcissistic self was forced to endure, there was also companionship, and for that I was grateful.
With the initial sense set of awkwardness behind us, I suggested stopping at my apartment as we try and determine our plans for dinner, allowing me an excuse to change out of my stuffy work clothes. We walked the few short blocks side by side; weary of what the other might be thinking but innocent enough to believe that this was the start of something great.
I left him in the kitchen with some ice water as I dashed away to change into something that was more suitable for the summer night. I was giddy with excitement, and realized it was because I was anxious to spend more time with him.
That all changed when I returned to find him pooping in front of the refrigerator.
“I thought you said he was house broken.” My fiancé chuckled as he traipsed through the front door.
“I also said we should name him Chompers.” I snapped, reaching for a roll of paper towels. “Maybe we should call him Sir Poops-A-Lot instead.”