We made it to Friday again, kids. And Amen to that. Not only are we blessed with a 3-day weekend, but you get the added bonus of a “sucks to be them” tale of dating woe. What more could you ask for?

This week’s less than fabulous stab at romance comes to us from Dominic in Jersey City, and it involves a surprise addition to his date. Short(ish) and not-so-sweet, this one’s a real piece of work.

Karen, the multi-tasker: “I read this column every week, and nobody yet has been able to top my worst blind date. So I decided to send this one in. I met this girl on eHarmony and made plans to go out with her. She seemed close to my age (I’m in my mid 30′s) and her profile said she’d never been married. We chose a restaurant near her house and agreed to meet at 8:30.

When I got there, we introduced ourselves, got to chatting, but I noticed her acting distracted. She kept looking over my right shoulder, and after about a half hour of that, I decided to call her out on it. When I asked if she knew someone over there, I turned around in my seat to see what she was staring at. That’s when I noticed a kid sitting at a table by himself across the restaurant.

Before I could say something about it, she cut me off. ‘I’m sorry, yes, that’s my son over there actually.’ HER WHAT? I choked. She hadn’t mentioned having a kid, but even if she had who the hell brings their child on a date with them? She told me her sitter backed out at the last second, and her mother was too sick to watch him.

So, not wanting to break the date, she decided to take him with her, set him up at a table with some french fries and a comic book, and tell him to behave himself for an hour or two. I guess I should’ve been flattered? Um, not exactly.

I told her she couldn’t leave him over there, and she said ‘Oh no it’s OK, he’s nine, he’ll be alright like that.’ She tried to keep the conversation going for a few more minutes, asking about my job and changing the subject, but the kicker came when her kid accidentally set a napkin on fire from the candle on the table a minute later. She dove out of her seat and yelled ‘Trevor no!’ and a waitress had to come stamp it out.

Check please! That was my cue. I ended the date, threw some money on the table for our food – and his – and wished her luck. The moral of the story? I’m all for people multi-tasking, but if your sitter flakes, just reschedule. First dates are awkward enough without bringing your kids.”

Dominic: What comic was the kid reading, “The Adventures of Child Protective Services and the Really Bad Parenting Decision”? That’s a mother of a bad story. (Sorry, it was too easy).

Did she at least apologize profusely? Not only for bringing her child on a date, but for lying about his existence in the first place? Sounds like you dodged a bullet there. Just curious though, what were the waitresses saying? I can’t imagine no one in the restaurant reacting to a child dining alone (unless he was a really big tipper, duh).

I mean, if you were really hitting it off with Karen, I suppose you guys could’ve made the best of it and put the kid to work fetching you guys drinks from the bar. Nine is old enough to not spill cocktails, right? Or at least had a little fun with it and introduced yourself to him as his “new daddy” and then grounded him for the napkin stunt. No? Yeah maybe your way is better.

Better luck next time is an understatement, but thank you for sharing this with us. Here’s hoping your next date doesn’t come with a booster seat.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Another Friday, another chance to feel better about your own life. And to be really, really happy that you weren’t on this date. Frankly, I wasn’t sure if you guys would rise to the occasion and send me something worthy of following up last week’s All You Can Eat saga. But luckily for me, Jana from Connecticut’s heinous romantic encounter came along at the right time.

So I’ll turn the floor over to her, and thank my lucky stars that I’ve never gone out with someone who makes me wonder if I’m on a hidden camera show. If you could use a good laugh, you’re in luck. And speaking of laughs…

Eric, the attorney: “His email showed up in my inbox one day with the subject line, “hey cutie.” I should’ve known that I was in for it right then and there, but I’d hit a bit of a dry spell lately, so I responded anyway. After a week or so of emailing, he seemed normal (aside from his love of affectionate names). So, we set up a time to meet for drinks at a low key wine bar of his choosing. When I showed up, he had considerably less hair than his profile photo. (*Miss Wingman note: Balding, it’s nature’s great equalizer. Accept it or Bic it, boys, we’ve been over this).

We sat and talked for a short time about the weather, our jobs, and whatever else. It was all superficial chit chat until we ran out of the aforementioned chatter and slammed headlong into total silence. I mean it – an awkward, drawn out pause where neither of us could think of anything to say. Until he decided to fill the silence with the first thing that came to his mind, and he blurted out, “So I used to want to be a priest when I grew up…”

I choked on an ice cube. “What?” He repeated himself. Yup, this was really happening. After I questioned him at length about why any adolescent male would ever consider voluntarily giving up sex FOR LIFE, he explained that he wanted to help people. Great, now I felt bad. Then I suggested he could do it in other ways, like volunteering at a hospital, or becoming a fireman. At least firemen were allowed to have sex.

I should’ve left the awkward silence alone, because as soon as I made the joke I realized how big a mistake I’d made. Eric laughed out loud, but it was the most high-pitched, ridiculous-sounding hyena laugh I’d ever heard. And it was deafeningly loud.

Or at least it seemed that way in a quiet wine bar, because everyone turned and stared at us. I would’ve laughed myself at how any person could even make such a noise, let alone a male, since he just hit falsetto octaves only whales and dogs could detect. But I was too busy shrinking down in my chair, paralyzed with embarrassment.

Ten minutes later he did it again, this time even louder and for a longer period of time, while we were discussing an episode of “Saturday Night Live.” I shrank down even further. Oh, and he kept calling me things like “babe,” “sweetie” and “hon” all night. It was getting worse by the minute.

I know you’re probably thinking that having a bad laugh isn’t really grounds for calling it a disaster, but I swear – no amount of describing it could ever do it justice. It was a cackle straight out of a movie.

But after two hours of awkwardness so thick you could cut it with a knife, my cue to leave came when he got out of his seat and started reenacting a scene from Episode V of “Star Wars” in front of our table. With voices and sound effects. I wish I was kidding. You can’t make this stuff up – unless it’s in an episode of “Punk’d.” I begged him to stop, and then looked for the camera – he had to be messing with me. Finally, I ended up just telling him I had an early conference call in the morning and needed to head home.

He packed up his imaginary light saber, paid our bill and walked me to my car. But not before giving me one last taste of the hyena laugh while thanking our waitress. I was spared the misery of a goodnight kiss attempt, and called my best friend on the drive home. After I told her about the date, she asked if I regretted going out with him. I told her yes, but I had an even bigger regret – that I didn’t think to record the laugh on my iPhone while I had the chance. It’s OK though, I can still hear it when I want to. In my nightmares.”

Jana: So would you say it was more Paul Rubens as Pee Wee Herman, or Janice on “Friends”? Either way it’s no laughing matter (Zing!)

But seriously, I’m glad it wasn’t me on that date because I have no poker face. A few other things I wanted to address though… 1) He said he’d considered becoming a priest at one time? Maybe that has something to do with him not trying for a goodnight kiss. Consider yourself lucky, but not lucky enough to have avoided the “Star Wars” role play. Which brings me to 2) Was it at least the Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker “I’m your father” scene from The Empire Strikes Back? If you must geek out, might as well be to George Lucas’ best work.

3) Although I like your fireman suggestion, priests can have sex. Didn’t you know that? It’s just slightly more of a hassle, what with having to silence all those young boys for years afterward. (Kidding! I know, I know – in poor taste in light of the Sandusky trial, whatever). 4) I loathe cheesy terms of endearment like “sweetie” and “cutie.” Next time a relative stranger calls you one of those, remind them that women have nicknames for them, too. Only they’re a lot less affectionate.

And finally 5) I’m bummed that you didn’t have an audio file to attach with this story, but I’m more concerned that you were discussing SNL. Who watches “Saturday Night Live” anymore anyway? Next thing you’ll be telling me you watch “American Ninja Warrior,” too. Where are your standards, girl? But thanks for the story, and it sounds like you learned your lesson. For future reference, the next time you want to set up a date, make sure to do it over the phone.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Who doesn’t love some good competitive eating every now and then? Apparently, people on dates (and for good reason). Yes in the midst of this oppressive, sweaty heat wave we’re experiencing, I couldn’t help but sweat it out for the guy who sent in this latest dating horror story.

Meet Rob, the insurance salesman from New Jersey who thought he was taking a nice girl out to dinner, but ended up being the less masculine one of the pair. While Miss Wingman loves when guys send in stories for this feature, I hope none of you encounter anything like this on a date. Ever again.

Jen, the champ: I was set up with this girl through a friend of a friend, but we both had dating profiles on the same site. So I think technically it still fits your “Online Dating Horror Story” criteria. We’d exchanged a few emails and she’d sent me a photo of herself before we decided to have dinner one Friday night. I thought she was pretty, if a bit more athletic-looking than most girls I’d dated. Our mutual friend said she was “into triathlons” and played several sports in a corporate league. I had an ex who was a soccer player, so I thought nothing of it. Game on.

She suggested a sports bar near her house, and when I walked in I saw that she’d already gotten us a booth in the back. When she stood up to say hello, I noticed that she was a lot taller than I’d expected, and almost had bigger triceps than I did. That’s hard to do, I’ve played Rugby since high school.

We exchanged some small talk and sipped our waters while the waitress brought us menus. That’s when trouble started. Our waitress mentioned that, in addition to the specials, the bar also featured a sandwich called the “Big Daddy” that, if you finished the whole thing, would earn you a free meal.

The menu described it as “a colossal stack of gooey, fried awesomeness,” which was really a cheeseburger with chicken fingers, fries and more cheese piled 8 inches high, all wrapped up on “bread” that was really a pizza folded in half. Oh and it was doused in wing sauce, too. My date turned to me and shouted, “Let’s do it!” But the waitress said it had to be eaten by only one person for it to count. I was so freaked out that she would even consider it that it didn’t even really sink in when Jen told the waitress that she’d take the challenge herself.

What the hell was happening?

As I sat there trying to process that a female had just ordered a meal on a first date that even truck drivers couldn’t take down, I glanced at our waitress who shot me back an equally surprised/sympathetic look. “It’ll be great!” Jen told me. “I can out eat almost anyone, and this way I’ll be a cheap date.” Then she high-fived me (not kidding) and asked me about what I did for a living.

I couldn’t even concentrate on what I was saying because she began picking at this enormous scab on her elbow while I was talking (*Miss Wingman note: Ew. Just…ew.) When she caught me staring she said, “Haha, yeah – isn’t it gnarly? I got it playing kickball the other day. We crushed the other team though so it’s all good.”

I would’ve been tempted to get up at this point, but that’s when they brought out the Big Daddy on this huge tray. And handed Jen a bib. Yup – a bib. She was smiling ear to ear, I was exchanging confused looks with guys around me.

Then the waitress went over and rang this cowbell thing on the wall alerting the bar that someone was taking the “Daddy Challenge” and then people started watching and coming over to stand by our table to cheer her on. Within minutes there was a full-blown chant going as Jen dove into this enormous towering pile of food. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had sauce all over her face and hands (not to mention pieces of lettuce stuck to her bib) and when I offered her a napkin to clean up, she said, “Nah what’s the point? I’ll wait til I’m done, doesn’t bother me.” Holy sh*t. I was speechless.

As it turns out, Jen DID finish the Big Daddy. And even though I was grossed out and it was the least sexy thing I’ve ever seen a girl do, I had to hand it to her. It was impressive. But when the crowd subsided and they took away her plate, she realized that someone had taken her purse while she was eating. When she panicked and told me, my first reaction was, “Wait you carry a purse?” She seemed like more of a wallet in the back pocket kind of girl.

We alerted the bar and everyone looked around, but at that point it was a lost cause (on the purse front and the date front). I offered to give her a ride home since her keys were gone, too but she said she’d rather call her roommate to bring her a spare set. I stayed with her until her friend came, but then high-tailed it out of there. As I was walking out, I heard someone let out a long, loud burp and, without even turning around, knew it was her.

Ladies, I know even jock girls need love, too, but if you want a guy to be into you, don’t spend half your date with condiments on your face. Her name is still up on the wall at the bar, by the way.

Rob: This. Is. Awesome. I mean, not the losing her bag part – that’s a stomach-sinking feeling that all women have had at one point or another and it SUCKS. But the devouring a platter of food that would make most dudes cower part is pretty outstanding, you have to admit. On one hand, the scab-picking would’ve made me bolt for the door – I’m nauseous just writing about it. But on the other hand, you have to admire a girl who was so comfortable being herself around you that it didn’t dawn on her to be self-conscious. The only one horrified was you.

And yes, even not-so-girly girls need love, too. But if ingesting 3000 calories isn’t your idea of a fun first date, I totally get it. You’ve got to hand it to her, though. She was a cheap date in the end. And it sounds like she’d be a hit at parties, too.

The next time you go out with a woman who seems like she has more testosterone than you (the next time?), bear in mind how hard it must be for jock-ish girls to find a guy who isn’t threatened by them. I guess it’d be similar to skinny, frail guys who are man pretty finding dates too. I mean, I don’t go out with guys who wear a smaller jean size than I do, but I guess that’s what they made hipster girls for… Either way, better luck next time and to Jen out there – wherever you are – consider this me sending you a chest bump. Well done, girl.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Fridays rock. You know what doesn’t? Being the girl in this story. What the hell could I possibly be referring to? Read on, boys and girls, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

In all of the awkward, unpleasant and – let’s face it – downright gross things that have been sent to me since I launched this feature, I think this one ranks pretty high up on the “oooooooohhh, that sucks” scale. And that’s hard to do, since you people have had some pretty twisted dates.

What makes this one stand out? Well let’s just say you don’t ever want to be used as a litmus test for someone’s sexual orientation, if you can avoid it at least. But I’ll let Carrie from Philadelphia take it from here…

Will, the writer: “As soon as I started talking to Will online, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was off. He was very good looking, seemingly intelligent, but he also seemed pretty guarded. Like, he’d ask me a lot of questions about myself but never really offer much detail on his own life. He told me he was the youngest of six siblings, came from the Midwest and that he’d only been living in Philly for a few months.

We agreed to meet for drinks one afternoon, and when I saw him I was impressed by what good shape he was in. This guy was a babe. He kissed me hello, we sat down, and he immediately began throwing back drinks. Correction – he began downing straight whiskey, no ice. It seemed a little aggressive for so early in the afternoon, but figured hey, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, right?

An hour or so into the date, he was visibly more relaxed. He suggested we ditch the bar and go for a walk, which I was fine with since I was worried he’d pass out or puke if we stayed much longer (*Miss Wingman note: Wouldn’t be the first time, Carrie). We’d only walked a few blocks when he reached down and took my hand. I wasn’t complaining, but when he leaned in and kissed me it caught me off guard. This was a full-on, get after it kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. In broad daylight.

When we pulled apart, I must’ve looked shocked, because he apologized. Then he took a deep breath, dropped my hands and started thanking me. I said thanking someone for a kiss was unnecessary (not to mention awkward). But he said he wasn’t thanking me for the kiss, It was more. What came out of his mouth next I could never have anticipated in a million years. Seriously, FML.

“No, I’m thanking you because now I feel like I can finally put something to rest,” he said. “I’ve suspected that I’m gay for years, and just wasn’t able to act on it coming from my hometown (by the way, the guy was 26 – not especially young). So when I moved here, I started dating guys, and I knew for sure. But, I wondered if I could maybe have been bisexual too?”

He wasn’t done. “Maybe it was wishful thinking, but if I was also attracted to women, it would make things easier – for my family, at least. But, if I can kiss someone as gorgeous as you and feel…absolutely nothing, I guess that’s my answer. Nope, definitely not into women.”

I think I stood there for a full minute blinking, not saying anything and just starting a lot of sentences without putting actual words together. Finally I told him that, while I was glad he’d has this epiphany (seriously, FML), I didn’t think it was particularly cool to use someone in this way. I felt deceived and, if I’m being honest, even if he meant it as a compliment, my ego was bruised.

He apologized a million more times and said he wouldn’t have done it if he’d felt there was any other way to get to the bottom of it. He’d even tried hooking up with a female friend in college but thought he only wasn’t attracted to her because she was more of a buddy than a girlfriend.

Needless to say, after that we exchanged awkward goodbyes and called it a day (*Miss Wingman note: You mean called it a gay. Duh). I hope wherever he is now, he’s happily out in the open. And done kissing girls.”

Carrie: Wow. That story gives new meaning to the phrase, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Or more accurately, “It’s not you, it’s your vagina.” I don’t even know what I would’ve done in that situation, but I feel like it would’ve involved a lot more of me asking paranoid questions, like “Wait, are you sure you felt nothing? Do you want to feel a boob to make sure?” If for no other reason than to soothe my own ego. Ouch.

And while yes, I agree that it was a little deceptive of him to take you out under those pretenses, I have to remind myself that not everyone comes from a background where it’s completely fine to be out in the open. Even though 26 seems a little late to be jumping on the penis train, I can appreciate how hard it must be for someone to deny a huge part of who they are for their whole life. It’s something that the rest of us will never understand, but of which we should still be respectful.

That said, you totally should’ve kept in touch with him after that. My gay friends are, by and large, way more fun than my straight friends. Who doesn’t love adding a new shopping/drinking/boy scoping friend into the social mix? (And no, that’s not all they’re good for, obviously).

But perhaps the bigger takeaway should be that the next time you see an impossibly good-looking, well-dressed, shy guy on a dating website (who also takes exceptionally good care of himself), maybe you should wonder why. Now go fix your gaydar antennae, walk that one off, and get back out there! (Insert encouraging ass slap here…in a straight girl kind of way). Cheers –MW.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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It’s Friday again, Wingman faithful (you didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?). And you know what that means – dating disasters, romantic misery and horror stories of all shapes and sizes. What could be better than that? Well, maybe if you were reading this with a happy hour cocktail in your hand…

This week’s tale of cyber dating woe comes from Amanda in Manhattan, and it involves a move so shameful it almost makes me lose faith in people’s morals these days. Almost. So sit back, relax, and be happy you’re neither of these people (or the other person, yikes).

Jason, the sales guy: “I met Jason through one of the lesser-known dating websites very recently. Like, two weeks ago recently. We chatted back and forth several times before he asked me to meet him downtown, which in hindsight I realize was nowhere near either of our neighborhoods. And was probably his attempt at being cautious. Perhaps you can see where this is headed already….

When I saw him, he was very attractive, confident and liked to talk. We chose a bar with cafe seating that wasn’t entirely on the sidewalk, but the front of the restaurant was all open. I sat facing the people walking by, he sat with his back to the street, facing inward.

After about 40 minutes of casual banter, where he told me he thought I was pretty and suggested a bar we should try “the next time we go out,” I was convinced things were going well. He also inadvertently turned his body sideways in his chair, and was now partially facing outward, leaning his back on the wall. I guess he forgot to keep his face hidden, because all of a sudden he saw something that made him go white.

He whipped around, put his hand up to obscure his face, and slumped down in his seat. He was stammering so badly he couldn’t even remember what he’d been saying. I asked if he was OK, and he said he thought he’d seen someone he knew – an old boss he hated – and was trying to dodge her. I bought it for a minute until, visibly shifting in his chair, I noticed a girl approaching our table who tapped him violently on the shoulder. Her face was way too pissed off to be a coworker, this girl was seeing red.

“Jason?” she hissed. Incredibly, he was still trying to hide in his chair, and only turned around to face her after she yelled, “Are you kidding me?!” loudly enough for everyone around us to hear. Now succumbing to the fact that he’d been caught, he turned to me and began to explain. “Uh this is my…” is all he could get out, before the girl spat out that she was his girlfriend. Correction, his LIVE-IN girlfriend. I wanted to die right there on the spot.

She was hurling a steady stream of obscenities at him and demanding to know who I was, and what the hell he was doing. Maybe it’s because he’s a salesman and thought he could talk his way out of it, but he just kept asking her what she was doing in that neighborhood. It’s like he was accusing her of being the one in the wrong. (*Miss Wingman note: Bad move, buddy. Bad, bad move).

For all her rage towards him, I have to give this girl credit that she heard me out while I explained that I had no idea he wasn’t single, and I’d never have gone out with him had I known. I also outed that we’d met online and, upon hearing that, her eyes got so wide I thought she might actually haul off and hit him.

It was then that I took my cue to get the hell out of there, and apologized to her repeatedly as I beelined for the sidewalk. Obviously, I never spoke to him again, and I can’t even believe that a guy could be that bold and shameless. I guess as far as dating horror stories go, it doesn’t get much uglier than your date being caught in the act by his girlfriend.”

Amanda: Oh contraire. Actually, it does (brother and sister story anyone? pregnant girl? we’ve had some doozies), but yours is pretty damn impressive. I’m sorry that you got caught in a real life “Jerry Springer” episode, but I’m even more sorry that I wasn’t sitting at that cafe watching that whole thing go down. There’s nothing more awesome than real life drama unfolding when you’re within earshot. It’s like free entertainment.

As for your date taking the Shaggy method of denial (“It wasn’t me”), that’s on him. I can only assume that, if his girlfriend even allowed them to travel home together after that, that she was tempted to push him in front of the subway train. Actually, come to think of it, if you haven’t heard from him again, maybe she did.

I give his girlfriend credit for recognizing that you were just an innocent bystander to his betrayal, and I almost (almost) have to give him credit for having the balls to think he could even pull that off in the first place. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in this line of work, it’s that people’s behavior never ceases to amaze me. So, I won’t even begin to go into what brings someone to pull a stunt like that. But rest assured, you probably weren’t his first, and I doubt you’ll be his last.

Whatever you do, don’t let this experience keep you from getting back on the online dating horse. Just remember next time to bring a purse big enough to carry a helmet. And maybe some running sneakers, too. Better luck next time. –MWTHAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Well well. What have we here? Another week, another chance to laugh at the misery of others. At least this Friday brings regulation tales of romantic disaster, instead of last week’s unexpected detour.

But though this week’s horror may be short, it is most definitely not sweet. Witness the stunning digestive pyrotechnics regaled by Sarah from Brooklyn. I’m not saying this is the worst thing that’s ever happened, I’m just saying that tossing out your shoes because someone tossed their cookies on them qualifies this as a pretty awful date. But I’ll let you be the judge.

Doug, the…oh hell, I don’t know what he does, but you won’t care either after you read this: “I met this guy on Match. He seemed normal, looked fairly handsome in his photos, and he lived within walking distance of my apartment. So, even if it didn’t turn out to be love at first sight, all signs were pointing to this date being smooth sailing. Though that’s not exactly how it turned out.

We agreed to meet at a restaurant in our neighborhood that neither of us had been to, but had been wanting to try. When I showed up, I wasn’t disappointed – neither by him nor the restaurant. He was polite, seemed somewhat intelligent and had a nice face. The food was Asian fusion, but neither of us ordered anything outrageous or unusual. He had some chicken dish and I ordered noodles.

While we were talking and getting to know each other, I gradually started to notice he was sweating. We both ignored it and kept on chatting because, other than that, things were going pretty well. But then he got very ashen, and all of a sudden the blood seemed to drain out of his face. I asked if he was alright.

Before I knew what was happening, he started to say, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well, I think- ” but didn’t finish his sentence. Why? Because he leaned under the table and vomited mightily. Yes, you read that right, vomited repeatedly (and loudly) onto the floor. The worst part is, he didn’t have time to get up and get to a bathroom, and I didn’t have time to react, so he ended up puking all over my shoes.

Not only did the people in the restaurant seem less than thrilled, but we had to make a hasty retreat, and as I put him into a cab he was apologizing profusely. It turns out something in his dinner was made with pistachios, to which he had a mild food allergy.

He ended up sending me a check to replace my shoes about a week later and emailed to apologize, but we never tried for a re-do on that date. I think we both just figured you really can’t come back from that. So be it.”

Sarah: What’s the matter, vomit date left a bad taste in your mouth? Sorry, it was too easy, I couldn’t resist. First of all, I’d call becoming violently ill a little more than just a “mild food allergy.” And secondly, more people should use the word “mightily” and more often – because anything sounds cooler when done mightily, even puking.

I’m sorry that his sickness spelled game over, but at least he was apologetic and tried to compensate you for what he ruined. I’m sure it’s a lot easier to replace a pair of shoes than walk that one off, from a pride standpoint. There are worse things in life than a publicly humiliating throw up session…I just can’t think of any right now.

Either way, don’t let one spoiled stomach sour you to the dating game in general. I’m sure he was sufficiently mortified, so try not to judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. Or have thrown up on them, one or the other.

Just remember to look on the bright side, it could’ve been worse. At least your night didn’t end in an ER visit, statistically this probably won’t happen to you again…and at least you weren’t wearing flip flops.

Thanks for sharing, and better luck next time –MW. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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It’s that time again, Wingman faithful. Another week is in the bag, much like the Rangers’ playoff victory (sorry, I’m still gloating from last night’s win). Last week we took a break from the horrifying things you guys have been sending me to focus on one very unfortunate spreadsheet author. This week, we have an equally pathetic tale, only one that involves more of the hipster type than the Wall Street type. Think Jonas Brothers more than Lehman Brothers, if you will.

Our tale of woe comes to us from Meghan in Murray Hill (that’s Manhattan for all you outside the 212), and it involves a lot of opinions and very little tolerance. Sounds like the perfect recipe for a love connection, clearly.

Casey, the Studio Tech: “I met Casey through a dating website, but it turned out that we had a friend in common. We decided to meet up on a Saturday afternoon after a little back and forth. Obviously I checked with our mutual friend first to see what his deal was, and I was assured that he was not a serial killer and was at least as marginally good looking as his photo. Because he lived in Brooklyn and I lived in Manhattan, we decided to meet downtown and walk across the Brooklyn bridge together, since it was nice out that day. Great, game on, or so I thought.

When I saw him, I was immediately struck that he was wearing skinny jeans, a fact I could’ve possibly overlooked if the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t, “Oh you’re definitely a Murray Hill girl, you’re wearing the uniform and everything.”

He was smiling when he said it, but I looked down at my leggings and ballet flats and suddenly wanted to punch his lights out, nice first impression. I managed to refrain from asking him if he was the 3rd member of MGMT, and made a mental note to kill our mutual friend next time I saw him.

While we walked, we talked about Brooklyn and how we’d end up on the other side of the bridge in the DUMBO-slash-Brooklyn Heights area. He made some obnoxious comment about how elitist Brooklyn wasn’t real Brooklyn, and how living in a $2 Million apartment or brownstone defeats the purpose of living in the outer boroughs. I asked what parts were considered “real Brooklyn” and he said Williamsburg, where he lived.

Disgusted, I changed the subject to what kind of music he enjoyed. Big mistake, we went from the frying pan directly into the fire.

He rattled off a list of bands that I’d never heard of and then, when I said I thought I recognized one of them, he quizzed me on how and what their songs were called. I felt like I was on Jeopardy. (*Miss Wingman note: you should’ve said, “I’ll take things that make me want to choke you for $1,000, Alex.” What, too hostile?)

Then he told me about the band he plays in (he’s the bassist – naturally,) and he started singing me some of their songs, complete with air guitar accompaniment. It was loud, and people around us started staring. I’ve never been so excited to get to the other side of a bridge before in my life, and kept silently pleading in my head for it to stop. But since we were only like 30 minutes into our date, he suggested we grab a drink at an outside bar for a bit, and I felt too rude saying no. Big mistake.

At the bar, I told him that my sister works for Romney’s campaign (bigger mistake), and he said, and this is a direct quote, “People who vote Republican are ugly on the inside.”

At that point, I was sure all bets were off, so when he excused himself to go to the men’s room, I did the only acceptable thing I could think of: I ordered a glass of the most expensive Scotch the bar carried, and then left before he returned to the table. Maybe it wasn’t the classiest move. But hey – some people just have it coming.”

Meghan: On the contrary, it would’ve been classless if you slammed the drink then stuck him with the bill. At least this way you left him to pay but he still got a drink out of it. It’s a win-win as far as I’m concerned.

I guess the moral of this story is that you shouldn’t go on dates with people on bridges. The temptation to hurl them over it if they suck is too strong. And putting yourself out of your misery could be equally tempting, too. Next time try a shooting range, it’s much safer. Glad you and your ballet flats hit the bricks, and better luck next time. Cheers –MW.

Have a dating horror story you’d like to share? Send it my way, Remember: the only upside to a bad date is using it for a laugh. Your misery is our enjoyment, so keep ‘em coming.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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