The One Who May Have Shit His Pants

I was on a date with a relatively interesting guy from Hinge. He seemed a little off but nothing out of the ordinary. We had BARELY finished our wine before he abruptly says, “I have to head uptown now, I asked the waiter for our check but I don’t think he got the memo.” We had to sit there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity before the waiter finally brings the check. It’s clear that he’s expecting us to split the check, and guess who can’t find her wallet? I’m fumbling in my massive work bag trying to find my TINY wallet, while he’s just staring at me. I had to use my phone flashlight for fuck’s sake. I FINALLY find the wallet, slap my credit card down, and we sit there staring at each other while the waiter processes our cards. At no point in this 5-minute ordeal trying to find my wallet did he offer to pay. And trust me, there was ample opportunity.

We leave the bar and figure out we both have to take the same train uptown. Once he figures that out he says, “Oh actually, I have to run back inside to use the bathroom, have a good night.” I’m standing there in the middle of the street wondering, Do I smell? Did I have something in my teeth? If was as if I had said something widely offensive that had triggered his need to get away from me ASAP. Then I thought, no no no, this is not on you! I finally conclude, he must’ve shit his pants.