#MyWorstDate (so far) occurred when I was 15. Just a bit of backstory, I grew up with a single mom who was pretty strict and wouldn't let me date until an undetermined age which led me to be rebellious in many ways. One of the things I used to do was spend the night at friend's houses and use their freedom to go out. One of these opportunities was for a double date. I was staying with a girl who was my best friend at the time named "Ashley" (not really). My friend Ashley was a year or two younger than me, but her boyfriend at the time was older than both of us. "Ashley" and "Benny" were going out for a couple of months already when I told her about this guy I started talking to on Facebook, she was always kind of rude whenever guys showed any sort of interest in me and she always seemed so shocked and would even give me a "good for you" hug. When I told her about this guy I thought I liked, I mentioned I was nervous and asked her to double with me.
He was a coworker, and about three years older than I was. I was fresh out of high school, and truthfully a virgin. To everything. I had only ever been on a few sorry-excuses-for-a-date before—ones that generally included Costa Vida (every time, why is that??), followed by board games with a group of Mormon-like snobs, (I lived in a community of mostly these types of people, which I used to blame for my embarrassing lack of experience. In reality, I think I'm just a painfully introverted and anxious person).
We were seated at an outdoor table and ate strictly off our own plates: I shoveled vegetable lo mein into my mouth, he poked at bits of General Tso with his chopsticks. To me, this was nothing more than two friends grabbing a bite to eat.
My worst date ever would probably be that I have never actually been on one. I’ve never gotten the chance to be addressed by a nervous boy afraid to ask me out; someone who buys a lot of props and gifts to use for his proposal and then returning them the same weekend. A person who stands in front of his mirror for hours and then goes to even ask his mother, sisters, and pet goldfish, Cheetos, to see the best way to do it. Whether to use a cheesy pickup line from his favorite cartoon or wear a tuxedo and stand awkwardly sweating with roses, tossing them from hand to hand, anxiously waiting for my arrival. He would then embarrass me by using my full name: "Ameerah Fawehinmi Olajumoke, would you do me the honors and be my date for the night to Mcdonald's?" I would look him in the eyes with a sense of sympathy, deciding in my mind as fast as I could to say either yes, no, maybe, or curse him out because he used my full name in front of some possible future criminals or even politely say that he’s out of his mind. Mainly for saying that he’ll take me to Mcdonald's instead of Panda Express because I love Chinese food. I mean I’m a 4’11" African American Muslim that you’re trying to get with, isn't it obvious?
There is nothing like a warm, summer night date at the drive-in theater; car windows down, the mouth-watering scent of hot, buttered popcorn filling the air and children running through the gravel parking lot, occasionally getting clothes-lined by a speaker wire. I was eighteen and had been dating Bill for about six months. He was your typical Indiana farm boy, always clad in faded, Levi jeans, a button down plaid shirt thrown over a crisp, white muscle shirt and worn, leather cowboy boots. Like most of the guys in our small town, Bill drove a pick-up truck outfitted with a lift kit, chrome roll bar and sitting atop enormous, monster truck sized tires. Being a petite girl, at just over five feet tall, Bill had to lift me into the truck or I had to scale the beast myself.
It all started out on Tinder. I didn't find him one bit attractive but somehow we matched. We talked for a week or so and one night I was lonely and bored so I asked him if he wanted to hang out. He said sure and so after he got off of work I made my way over to his apartment. I parked, started walking towards his apartment and there I saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs. At that moment all I could think while looking at him was, "Just turn around and go home. His pictures do him too much justice! You are seriously not interested!" But I thought that would be rude. I reached him and instantly said hi and he replied with a hello and a very awkwardly robotic hug. We began up the stairs to the apartment while he's talking to me I was thinking, "It's not too late to run down the stairs to your car." But my thoughtfulness for other's feelings thought it was still too rude so I followed him all the way to his door. The real horror lied behind that white wooden door. He turned the knob and in we went. There were newspapers on the floor, random stuff all over the floor, heaps of randomocity everywhere and food from 3 weeks ago, or so it looked, on the coffee table. He gestured for me to sit on the couch and I hesitated because I mean ew. He hands me the remote and tells me to pick what my heart desired to watch while he changed out his work clothes. I flipped through and found a decent show to watch, Wild N Out. He comes back and sits next to me but we don't touch.