That Je Ne Sais Quoi

Over the past few weeks, I've been on several dates. And for some reason… the chemistry was painfully MIA. I find it fascinating — almost comical — that I only seem to click with the men who are completely wrong for me. You know the type: emotionally unavailable, a resume full of red flags, or a starting lineup of kids and baby mamas. Maybe I have a thing for the unattainable… or maybe I just lose interest when a guy is too available.

Truth be told, I want to like the men with good jobs, stable lives, and a five-year plan that doesn’t involve chaos. They’re not unattractive, just… blah. There’s no spark, no vibe, no je ne sais quoi. It’s frustrating because finding a man with both personality and relationship goals feels like hunting for a unicorn in a sea of gym selfies and “looking for fun” bios.

Sometimes I feel like Charlotte from Sex and the City — “I’ve been dating since I was fifteen, WHERE IS HE ALREADY?!”

Lately, I’m wondering if I’ve just gotten so used to the act of dating that I’ve forgotten how to be in a relationship. Most of my coupled-up friends didn’t go on a million dates — things just happened. Meanwhile, I’m stuck wondering if I’m dating out of genuine interest… or just to break up the monotony (and collect material for more bad date stories).

Either way, it’s exhausting. Is it too much to ask for a little chemistry and a little stability in one package?

Bad Date #3: The Bad Tipper

This one wasn’t a bad date... until the very end.

Back in college, I had a crush on this guy—I still don’t know why. He was a Mexican Texan who kind of looked like Fred Flintstone, and maybe it was some weird nostalgic tie to my childhood. Who knows. But for whatever reason, I was into it.

So I asked him if he’d take me to this popular sushi spot in Gainesville. (If you went to UF, you already know which one I mean.) I ordered sushi, he didn’t, which I didn’t judge. Not everyone has the taste for it.

The date itself? Pretty chill. We ate, chatted, laughed a little. He picked up the bill at the end, then said he had to run to the bathroom.

I headed toward the front of the restaurant to wait for him.
Then the waitress approached me.

She looked uncomfortable.
I asked, “Is something wrong?”

She replied,

“Did I do something bad?”

I said, “No, why?”

She said:

“Because I only got a $1 tip from you guys.”

My jaw didn’t drop physically, but inside?

🚨 EMERGENCY. SHUT DOWN. REBOOT.

I was mortified.

I didn’t have cash on me, but I offered to tip her using my debit card—even suggested she charge me for something random just so I could make it right. She kindly declined.

My date came strolling out of the bathroom, totally unaware, and we left.
I didn’t say a word.
But inside?
I was done.

No matter how much you look like Fred Flintstone, if you leave a $1 tip and embarrass me in front of a hardworking waitress...
You’re getting ghosted.

And just like that, it was the last date with Fred.