I hate it when I show up for a date with somebody and don’t recognize them because their

            profile had what I thought was a photo of a very tiny man with a regular sized fish, but it

            was actually a photo of a regular-sized man with a great white shark.

I hate it when my date leaves early because she finds out I’m the person her dentist complains

            about while he’s using his pick to remove her cavities.

I hate it when people misunderstand my pick-up lines so profoundly that they get angry and

            resort to leaving bad reviews for me on Rate My Professor at made-up universities that

            are not inaccurate, but target my deepest insecurities, and also they give me zero chili

            peppers.

I hate it when I give a fake phone number to a woman on Tinder who ends up being a lawyer

            who doesn’t sue me, but keeps threatening to in increasingly obscure and frightening

            ways.

I hate it when I show up with roses, not realizing that my date is highly allergic to roses, or that

            there is a spider hiding inside the biggest one, so that when I put them near her face,

            insisting she smell them, not realizing I’m about to trigger anaphylaxis, a spider jumps

            out and lands on her forehead.

I hate it when I ask my date to come with me for a romantic picnic in the cemetery, only to find

            out upon arrival that there was a funeral scheduled in the exact location I had chosen for

            my picnic blanket, and we’re forced to give eulogies for some rando’s promiscuous great

            uncle.

I hate it when my date gets arrested for tax fraud right in the middle of the Hazel Dell Jack-In

            The-Box.

I hate it when I try to impress somebody by reciting the entire book of Genesis, but they one-up

            me by acting out Revelations with elaborate props and shadow-puppets.

I hate it when the person I’m talking to asks me to sext but they only communicate with cryptic

            emoji symbolism so I miss my opportunity.

I hate it when my date throws a drink in my face because I don’t have a penny to put in one of

            those souvenir penny-crushing machines and they think I’m just being cheap.

I hate it when I choke on my asparagus at a restaurant and the waiter has to give me the

            Heimlich maneuver because my date is so embarrassed they try to escape through the

            bathroom window, but their pants get stuck and an employee has to come get them

            while I recover from nearly dying because of the undercooked young shoots of a

            perennial flowering plant.

I hate it when I think I’m talking to a hot guy but he turns out to be an AI network designed to

            test the gullibility of humans on dating apps, and when the researcher reveals this to

            me, they also say I’m not really as pretty as I think I am.

I hate it when I take somebody on a behind-the-scenes tour of SeaWorld and they get mauled

            by the orca whale.