As a hopeless romantic (and an even more hopeless texter), I finally caved in and downloaded Tinder. Modern love, they said. Dating made easy, they said. Lies, I tell you. Lies.
Now, before you judge me, let me clarify—I wasn’t looking for my soulmate. Well, maybe a little bit. But I was mostly looking for a good time, some fun conversations, and, if the universe was feeling generous, a cute guy who actually knew the difference between “your” and “you’re.” (A girl can dream.)
Then, there he was. A picture-perfect profile. Tall, handsome, with a dog in one photo and a well-crafted bio that didn’t scream serial killer energy. It read:
“Lover of deep conversations, long walks on the beach, and cooking pasta from scratch. Also, I never ghost—unless we’re talking about Halloween.”
I mean, come on. This guy was either a dating app unicorn or an AI-generated scam. I swiped right.
Match!
Cue my internal panic. Was I ready for this? Did I even remember how to flirt? Was it too soon to open with a Schitt’s Creek reference? (Spoiler: It’s never too soon.)
We started chatting, and to my surprise, he was actually charming. Witty. Funny. He even used punctuation correctly, which I consider a modern-day miracle. By day three of texting, I was convinced—this could be it. The start of something magical. Or at least a decent story to tell my future cat.
So, we made plans. A casual coffee date. Innocent enough, right? Just two people meeting in broad daylight, surrounded by witnesses, in case one of us turned out to be a Dateline episode waiting to happen.
Then came The Date.
The Disaster Begins
It started with him being twenty minutes late. Not great. But hey, life happens. I was about to text him a polite “Hey, all good? Still coming?” when he burst through the café doors, drenched from head to toe.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late,” he panted. “Had to chase my neighbor’s parrot down the street.”
I blinked. “Your… what?”
He ran a hand through his soaking wet hair, flinging water onto the table. “Yeah, long story. Anyway, I’m here now! You look great, by the way.”
Okay, weird. But maybe it was just nerves. Maybe he actually had a rogue parrot in his neighborhood. I decided to roll with it.
We ordered coffee, and things seemed somewhat normal—until he pulled out a deck of tarot cards from his pocket.
“Do you believe in destiny?” he asked, shuffling the cards like a magician about to blow my mind.
I forced a smile. “Sure…?”
“Great,” he grinned. “Let’s do a reading for our future.”
Now, at this point, a sane person would have excused themselves to the bathroom and climbed out the nearest window. But no, not me. I was too curious.
He laid out the cards dramatically. “Oh,” he said, frowning. “This… this is interesting.”
“What?” I asked, sipping my latte.
He exhaled like he was delivering bad news. “You have a complicated love line.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I do?”
“Yes. And your fate…” He squinted at the cards. “Oh no.”
“Oh no?!” I nearly choked. “What’s ‘oh no’?”
“You might experience unexpected financial troubles.”
I let out a breath. “Oh. That’s not a prediction. That’s just my life.”
He nodded solemnly, like he’d just cracked the code of the universe. “I see. But don’t worry, I can help balance your energy.”
“Uh-huh.” I checked my watch. How fast can I finish this coffee?
Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder, he leaned in and asked:
“So… can you lend me ten bucks for parking? I forgot my wallet.”
The Escape Plan
Now, let me be clear—I’m all for acts of kindness. But something about this highly specific financial trouble prediction followed immediately by a cash request made me feel like I was in some kind of budget rom-com directed by the universe itself.
I considered my options:
- Give him the money and hope he doesn’t ask for my credit score next.
- Run. Just… run.
- Turn this into a learning moment.
I decided on Option #3.
“Oh no,” I said, mirroring his dramatic tone. “I just did a reading for myself, and it turns out I also have unexpected financial troubles. What a coincidence.”
He stared. “Wait, really?”
I nodded, sighing. “Yeah. My cards say I’m broke. Super broke. Tragic, really.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure if I was serious. I took that opportunity to down the rest of my coffee, grab my bag, and stand up.
“Well, this was… something,” I said. “Good luck with the parrot!”
And just like that, I was gone.
The Takeaway?
Did I find love? No. Did I lose $10? Also no.
But I did gain:
✅ A hilarious story.
✅ A newfound respect for my instincts.
✅ A reminder to always bring exact change.
And honestly? That’s a win in my book.
Would I swipe right again? Probably. But next time, I’m bringing my own tarot cards. You know… just in case.