Wells Penn

My phone buzzed next to me, and when I flipped it over, I saw it was my friend Michelle. She must be back from the date her sister set her up on. I quickly hit the answer button and placed the phone next to my ear.

“Michelle! How was it? Tell me everything,” I said.

“You will not believe what happened, Georgia. It was the worst date ever,” she rushed out.

“Uh oh. Are you home?” I replied.

“Yes, I just walked through the door.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

“So basically, he asked me to meet up at this comedy bar. I walk in, and he’s waiting for me. It’s going really well—the comedians are funny, I have a drink or two, then suddenly he gets up and hops on stage.”

“What do you mean? Was he drunk?”

“No, he was one of the comedians performing that night. And guess what his opener was?”

“Oh god,” I said, already fearing the worst.

“He grabs the mic and says, ‘I’m here tonight on a first date. And she stinks.’ Then he laughs about it. Mortifying!” she said, anger and embarrassment lacing her voice.

“I wanted to crawl under the table,” Michelle groaned, her cheeks burning. “But then I figured… free comedy show, right?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Only you, Michelle. Only you could survive a date like that and still tell the story.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and for a moment, the disaster felt almost funny.