Tinder dates are pretty standard in the year 2017, and when anything becomes standard, you end up with standard “rules.” Have a go-to first date outfit that you feel comfortable and confident in: no need to waste your nerves and energy on a new dress when you have one you know you rock every time. Share your location with one trusted bestie so you don’t get kidnapped by a stranger you met on the internet. And never ever meet for the first time at a dude’s house. If you end up there after you’ve felt him out, who am I to judge. But meet up in public. Generally, we abide by this for safety reasons, but it comes to my attention after the shittiest date of all time, that there are far creepier reasons to keep your initial distance.
My friend just came back from the worst Tinder date of all time. And I mean that. It started with a dinner. The guy invited her over to his house to cook for her, which Alexa The Fool, as she’ll henceforth be known, thought was romantic. He brought out all the stops. He cooked dinner, popped wine, and had great conversation. “Watching a movie” was nowhere on the horizon, and Alexa The Fool was feeling it. Until, well, she was really feeling it. In her stomach. All at once.
“Hey, where’s your bathroom? I need to freshen up.”
We all know one of the cardinal rules of dating is never to let a boy know you poop. Like, literally never. Some of us go years without ever making our men aware of what happens when they’re away. I’ll be married with kids — my husband will watch a human come out of my body — and he’ll still never know that I use the bathroom for anything more than a tinkle. So you know it was serious if on a first date Alexa asked if she could “freshen up.” She was squeezing every muscle in her body to ensure she didn’t shit herself. That’s how bad it has to get before you allow for such a thing. Unfortunately, her date didn’t see the urgency.
“Sure. I just need to clean up a bit first.”
This was fine. She understood. He seemed to be a gentleman with the elaborate first date and all. Of course, he should have prepared for her arrival, ya know, before her arrival, but it made sense that he didn’t want her to bare witness to the pube-infested darky abyss that is generally a man’s bathroom. Fifteen minutes passed, and she still wasn’t granted permission into her own personal Garden of Eden. She felt like she was putting off labor. So she asked again to use the bathroom. And again, he had an excuse. One more thing he had to show her before she could go.
This happened four more times. And of course, being a lady, she couldn’t just say “fucking move, or I am going to shit myself.” And because she couldn’t say it, well, she did it. She shit herself. On a first date.
Mortified, she watched her life flash before her eyes. She heard Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You” added to the soundtrack of her life to play on repeat for all eternity. Sensing her discomfort, he asked her what happened. She had no choice but to tell him. And he was surprisingly…cool about it?
He eased her embarrassment while she stood in her own shit, and offered up his shower to her. He took her clothes and offered to wash them for her, leaving her to wonder whether she wanted to die or marry the guy who was clearly an other-worldly creature sent down to us from heaven while she lived in her own personal hell. As questions of how she’d recover from this, she opened the door and found that her date went from shitty to shittier.
She opened the door hoping to find some fresh new clothes, and the beginning of her new life, post-shit-pants. But what she found was a guy in his bed, covered in her shit. He’d wiped it all over himself and basked in it. Because not only was he “okay” with what had happened. He’d orchestrated it. He had a shit fetish, which I didn’t even know was a thing. That “romantic” dinner” was a ploy for him to put laxatives in her food. “Sprucing up” the bathroom was merely a decoy to stall so she couldn’t hold it any more. Because, in fact, he had done this before. He pulls this move on girls repeatedly, and has been banned from most dating sites because of it.
But not Tinder. Because if you can’t find love in a shitty place, at least you can find shit in a lovey place..