You shared all your intense horror medical stories (and showed me the scars from when you set your face on fire from a drinking game, multiple car accidents, plastic surgery, etc).
You made the waitress feel the screws under your skin after she said she didn’t want to. (Seriously, pressed her hand to your skull as she protested).
You interrupted me and “corrected" me about my thoughts on religion multiple times in a matter of a minute, than said I had an unusual reaction when I said I didn’t want to discuss religion anymore.
You gave me your “I’m too smart for medical school, so that’s why I dropped out." resume.
You pitched me a “if you buy this dining card and use me as a reference, I'll earn free meals."
After you over-ate at dinner, we walked to the waterfront (trying to make you feel less bloated), where you proceeded to unzip your pants, lay on a bench and ask me to rub your stomach.
Fred Armisen was at our restaurant and you said you didn’t know who he was, so he’s not a celebrity and gave him shitty looks.
Ahhh, being single is looking so much better.
Get the best of the Mercury each week in your inbox!