What’s your worst date — ever?

What’s your worst date — ever??”

Yes! He was a psychiatric nurse and had contacted me from a dating website. “I see that you are a vegetarian,” he wrote. “I’m not a vegetarian, but I’d sure like to invite you over for dinner. I’m sure we can figure something out!”

It sounded positive! A man who was offering to prepare a dinner for me!

I called him and made arrangements to meet him at his lovely home.

“Wait until you see my beautiful home!” he said. “I’ll give you the grand tour when you get here!”

The tour began immediately upon my arrival.

The conversation went something like this:

“And here is my master bedroom!”


“Look at all the expensive polo shirts lying on my bed. Do you know how much I paid for them?”

“I have no idea!”

“I got them at a garage sale! A quarter each!!”

“Wow! That’s really impressive!” I replied.

The tour continued.

“And over here. Here is my dining room table. It’s made out of real walnut! You know how much I paid for it?”



“I have no idea!”

“Well. Just guess!”

“I don’t know. Two hundred dollars?”

He laughed long and heartily.

“No! No! I paid only $35 for it!!”

“Wow! That’s great!”

“And here is my laundry room. Look! I got this set of a stackable washer and dryer! Guess how much!”

“I have no clue!”

“Just guess! They’re usually about $2,500.00 brand new!”

“I don’t know. $500?”

“No! No! Only $300 for the stack! Isn’t that unbelievable??”

“Yeah! It’s truly unbelievable!” I replied.

The tour continued in this manner. It was as exciting as watching an episode of The Price is Right.

Soon, we were in the kitchen where the dinner for me had been prepared.

At least, that’s why I thought we were now entering the kitchen.

But, there was no meal.

He said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about it. And I know you’re a vegetarian. So, I was thinking maybe you would like some pasta. Is pasta all right?”

“Yeah! Pasta sounds great!” I replied.

And, with that, he opened up one of his kitchen cupboards and took out an unopened box of raw spaghetti.

Then he turned and looked at me, holding the unopened box of pasta in his right hand.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to know how to make pasta, but it never turns out right. It’s always soggy.”

“Oh! Well, you first have to bring the water to a rapid boil. THEN you add the pasta!”

I explained.

And on that note, he opened up one of the bottom cabinets and took out a large boiling pot, and handed it to me, along with the unopened box of spaghetti.

He then turned on the spigot, and I filled up the pot with water and placed it on “high” on the stove.

There were a few beats of silence.

Then he said, “So, what kinds of sauces can we put on this pasta?”

I said, “Well, there’s red sauce, white sauce, and cheese sauce.”

He replied, “Yeah! That’s it! White sauce!

I’ve always wondered how you make a white sauce!”

“Oh, it’s pretty simple!” I replied. “All you need is flour, milk, and butter and a sauce pan.”

And with that, he handed me a sauce pan, a bag of flour, a stick of butter, and a gallon of milk.

While I was preparing the white sauce, he went off into another room to retrieve a large knife he had purchased dirt cheap at a garage sale.

When he returned with the knife, he said to me, “Now what should we eat with our pasta and white sauce? Probably a little salad, right?”

“Right,” I responded.

“But, ya know. I’ve never really learned how to make a salad. I think you’re actually supposed to tear the leaves and not use this knife. Right?”

“Yeah. Right,” I responded.

And with that, he handed me the head of lettuce, an onion, a cucumber, and a tomato.

“But you’ll probably need this knife for chopping up the tomato, onion, and cucumber, right?”

“Right,” I responded.

While I was tending to the pasta, the white sauce, and making the salad, he went into his garage and retrieved a bottle of white wine.

“I think this little bottle of white wine will hit the spot!” he said.

We took the pasta with white sauce, our salads, and our glasses of wine into the garage which he had recently converted into a den.

We sat at a small wrought iron glass table and the conversation went something like this.

“See that orange L-shaped sofa over there?”


“I got it for only $75. Brand new! The store was going out of business.”

“That’s great!”

“And see that orange wood burning stove?”


“Look how nicely it matches with the orange sofa!”

“Yeah. I see that.”

“Guess how much I paid for that orange wood burning stove.”

“I have no idea!”

“Guess!! Just guess!”

“Ah, okay. (a beat of silence) Ah, one hundred dollars?!”

He giggled in glee.

“No! No! I only paid $50 for it!!! Fifty dollars!!!! Can you believe that!?”

“Wow! That’s unbelievable!” I replied.

“And look over there! Do you see that pool table!?”


“I got it cheap because of the orange felt on it. Most people want green felt, so they sold me the orange one cheap! Guess how much!”

“Three hundred dollars?”

“You’re close! Only two hundred dollars! That price is unbelievable. Don’t you think so?”


There were several beats of silence as I twirled the pasta on my fork and took a few delicate bites.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You know,” he said, “I recently added a bathroom here in the den, and I would really like to get a wooden toilet seat, but they’re soooooooo expensive! But this week, at the mall, I saw them on sale for only $35!! Do you think I should get one?”

“Ah, absolutely!!” I replied with gusto. “You deserve a nice, wooden toilet seat!”

We were now finished with our meals and he invited me to move over to the orange L-shaped sofa in front of the orange wood burning stove. And we took the bottle of wine and our glasses with us. I sat on one side of the L and he sat on the other.

“Now, tell me a little bit about yourself!” he said. “So far, you seem a little quiet and boring. So, tell me about you!”

“Okay,” I said. “Well, I work online as a college professor and I’m also a mus . . . .”

He interrupted. He was patting the sofa with his left hand.

“Come! Come! Don’t you want to sit next to me?”

“Ah . . . . . that’s okay. I’m comfortable over here.” I continued . . . “And I’m also a

music . . . . “

He interrupted again, now patting on the sofa pretty heavily.

“No! Come! Come! Come sit next to me!!


On that note, I stood up.

“Oh! Look at the time!!!” I said. “It’s getting so late! And I have to get up so early in the morning for work.”

As I grabbed my coat and walked out, I added, “But thank you for preparing me that lovely meal.”


Being on the dating scene online has inspired me to write this comedy song:


Angela V. Woodhull

Ph.D. in psychology, comedy musician and P.I. and Survivor

I Write Educational Songs with PPTs for Kids

Studied at I Write Comedy Songs for Aduts

Lives in The United States of America

Produced Playwright, author of "Remember Idora" Licensed Private Investigator; performer live entertainment, Horst Gasthaus, accordion music