Why Does the Universe Hate Me?
A RomCom Tale of First Dates
The Beatles sang Blackbird softly in the background as I waited at the bar of the restaurant. My foot tapped to the beat of the music as I surveyed the various couples scattered around candle lit tables. Why did I allow myself to be talked into this? It had been almost a year since the finalization of my soul sucking divorce. I needed a man like a I needed a hole in my head, but I was tired of seeing my sister’s worried looks and caved to her persistent badgering.
It was ten minutes past the time that my date and I agreed upon and I was half hoping that he’d stand me up, and half pissed that he might. I arrived ten minutes early, so I’d been sitting alone in this romantic setting for twenty minutes now. Because that didn’t look pathetic at all, right? Tell that to Mr. McHottie sitting two chairs down the bar from me. I almost wished he was my date. He was all dark hair, piercing eyes, and sexy forearms. His suit jacket hung off the back of his chair, button up shirt sleeves rolled up with loosened tie and a scotch in his hand. Never trust a man that drank scotch, even if he belonged on some glossy magazine. I had decided upon noticing him when I arrived that completely ignoring him was good for my sanity.
Checking the photo on the dating app, I scanned the faces around me to make sure I hadn’t…
