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I made up some excuse about not being ready,

apologized profusely, assured him it was me and not him, then

got in my car and probably burned off half my tires trying to

get out of the parking lot. I burst into tears a few blocks later.

So here I am at date five.

I wait. And wait. I chew through the rest of the basket

of bread. Drink the rest of my wine. Make apologies and

muttered assurances to the flustered waiter.

And still, I’m alone.

I wait an hour, then give up. The guy, Richard, is

obviously a no-show. I should have known that nothing good

could come from someone named Richard. No wonder

everyone calls them Dick.

I pay the bill and leave, my pride holding me together

until I get into the car. I lock the doors and fire off a quick

email to Adley. She responds right away when I tell her that

Richard never showed.

Oh my god. I just messaged him online. He’s signed in.

He went to the wrong place. Apparently, there are two with the

same name. I’m so sorry. I should have double checked the

address. I feel so bad! Do you want me to reschedule? Or see

if he will?

I think about that for a second, then, shaking my head,

I type her a response, telling her not to bother, that everything

is fine. I do end it by stating that maybe I just need to take a

break for a bit.

It’s the wrong thing to say, and a panicked email pops

up almost immediately.

Don’t do that. Don’t give up. I’m sorry that you had a

few bad dates or ones that just weren’t right. Normally I do