But just when I thought I was escaping the wrath of Beyoncé, it hit me right in the face. Yesterday, I met up with this chick from Tinder for the first time. We linked up at a bar in LA during happy hour. I had to use the bathroom, but tell her to order me the same drink she orders. And when I return, it’s a cold glass of lemonade. Who orders lemonade during happy hour? It wasn’t even half price. Ladies, if a guy invites you out somewhere between the hours of 4-7 pm, you gotta follow the happy hour etiquette.
So I try to put aside my feelings for this full-priced cup of lemonade with no free refills. I ask her how her day was. She replies, “Today was amazing. I felt irreplaceable.” I wanted to ask her more details, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I asked her on a date, or if she just got promoted at her job. Besides, I didn’t want to bruise my ego, so I smiled and took it as a compliment. We order some food. We’re at this soul food spot, so they’ve got some pretty good chicken. Pretty stereotypical I guess, but if you go there, it’s basically what you order. It would be like going to Popeye’s and getting catfish. Who does that? So immediately, when the food arrives, she pulls out her keys with a travel-size Louisiana hot sauce container and pours it on her chicken. The thing is, there was already the same hot sauce on our table. I wasn’t sure whether to ask her if she had another one for me, or why she had it in her purse in the first place. She’s a cute white chick (don’t hate me). So I also wasn’t sure if she was pandering, or if she really keeps her personal hot sauce right next to her mace at all times. Same question I still want to ask Hillary. The chicken was great, but something was missing. So being the true gentleman I am, I asked if I could try some of her hot sauce. You know, make her feel good about her life choices.
Eating chicken is good, but if you eat it right, it gets messy sometimes, especially with hot sauce. Thinking she’s testing my Beyoncé knowledge. I ask her to pass some napkins. She doesn’t see them, and falls right into my trap. I point and sing, “to the left, to the left.” At this point, she starts talking about building sandcastles. She tells me how her how boyfriend cried when she walked away. I’m curious. So I ask her why she walked away from her boyfriend while they were building sandcastles. I wanted to ask why her boyfriend started crying, but I’m a sensitive guy sometimes, so I give him a pass. She then tells me, “Every promise, don’t work out that way.” I was confused, because I just picked up on the fact that she said boyfriend and not ex, and that she used the word don’t for the first time all night instead of didn’t. Who is this chick? At this point, I reach for my cup, and realize that I drank all of my lemonade.
Not sure if I was planning to stay long enough for a second cup of $6.99 lemonade, I ask the waiter for water instead. But before I finish, she cuts me off and says “Hold Up.” Again I’m thrown off by the replacement of her usual words, “one moment please.” Then she starts speaking gibberish, stuff that doesn’t quite make sense to me. She asks me, “What’s worse? Looking jealous or crazy?” Before I can answer, she tells me it’s a rhetorical question. She continues. “It’s such a shame. You let this good love go to waste.” I’m thinking, ‘never trust a girl who wears a sundress in her Tinder profile’. But she’s looking off in the distance. So I’m thinking she’s just having a moment, but I turn around and see what appears to be her boyfriend sitting a table away from us. I know, because she pulled out a picture of him when she started talking about sandcastles. Before I can confirm though, she asks me again, “What’s worse, looking jealous or crazy?” At this point, I’m pissed, because every time my ex-girlfriend’s been jealous, she’s always looked crazy too. It felt like a trick question. So I give her a taste of her own medicine, and do what every guy does when he’s missing his girl. I start quoting lyrics from Ne-Yo’s “So Sick.” “It’s been months. For some reason I just can’t get over us.” It felt like a love scene in a bootleg movie. Right when it gets to the good part, some of the scenes start going in and out. I continue before she has a chance to react. “So done with wishing, she was still here.” At this point, she cuts me off and says, “OMG, you’re going through a bad break up too?” I’m like, “Nah, but my dog passed away last week.” Finally we start to break ground, and she reaches in to hug me over the table. I’m thinking I had just sealed that first date kiss. But before she sits back down, she says, “You can taste the dishonesty. It’s all over your breath.” I’m confused though, because we had the same hot sauce. So I’m wondering if it was the Black-eyed peas I ordered instead of her French fries. I was rushing and left my mints at home. Rookie mistake. I apologize, and tell her that she’s right. “I lied. I actually had a cat, but I was just too embarrassed to tell you.”
Our waiters picked up on my birdcalls at this point, and returns with both water and the check. $38.47 for (2) two-piece chicken dinner plates and (2) glasses of organic lemonade. I only budgeted $40.00, cause the happy hour drinks were 2-for-1 and the appetizers were only $3.00/piece. Being a gentleman, and trying to make a good first impression, I tell the waiter to keep the change. At this point, I’m even more pissed, and she sees it on my face. So she says “I ain’t sorry. I ain’t sorry. Nn naw.” Did she just paraphrase the N word? Didn’t she learn the white chick that dates Black guys etiquette? The fact that she repeated it twice to the beat of Rick Ross’ “F*ck with me you know I got it,” helped me allude to the fact that it was probably more lyrics. So I stand up and start repeating lyrics of my own. “I’m walking away…. from the troubles in my life. I’m walking away. Gonna find a better day.” I don’t think she was hip enough to realize I was reciting Craig David lyrics, but I was just glad to have made it out okay.
An hour after our date, I noticed that she unmatched me from Tinder, but followed me on Snapchat. It was like she was trying to tell me I can’t have feelings for you, but I still want to keep my eye on you. You know how crazy chicks are. But I learned my lesson. Anytime women order lemonade on a date within the next year, text your homie “level 10 emergency”, and have him call you right away. So here I am. Headed home at 6:45 p.m. having spent twice the amount of my usual taco Tuesdaybudget, but without the tequila. There's still time for last call on happy hour, but there's a $10 debit card minimum. Plus, I feel like my Craig David exit wouldn't have the same effect. So fellas, this is why you always Facetime a girl from Tinder before you meet up. My female friends were right. Needless to say, I may never date the same again. Thanks Beyoncé.