I Threw Up on a First Date

It sounds ridiculous, but that’s exactly what happened. I had been talking to this woman, Lauren, for weeks, and we finally set up a dinner date at a nice Italian restaurant. I was excited. I was ready. What I wasn’t ready for was my stomach staging a full-scale rebellion.

See, earlier that day, I had some questionable sushi. I felt a little off but thought, Eh, I’ll be fine. Spoiler: I was not fine.

The night started great—good conversation, lots of laughter. I thought I was killing it. But about 20 minutes in, my stomach started making noises loud enough to be classified as a distress signal. Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah,” I lied, ignoring the cold sweat forming on my forehead.

Then the food arrived. Big plate of creamy pasta. Smelled amazing. Looked amazing. My stomach, however, disagreed.

Halfway through Lauren telling a story about her dog, I felt it—the wave of nausea. No warning, no buildup, just immediate danger. I tried to fight it. I really did. But in the middle of nodding along to whatever she was saying, I abruptly turned, grabbed the cloth napkin, and—well, you can guess the rest.

Lauren screamed. The couple at the next table scooted their chairs back so fast they nearly fell over. The waiter just stood there, horrified.

I mumbled some kind of apology, excused myself, and ran to the bathroom. Spent a solid ten minutes in there, contemplating my life choices. When I finally walked back out, I was expecting Lauren to be long gone. But nope—she was still there. Laughing.

“You good now?” she asked, smirking.

I nodded, absolutely mortified. And then—she just kept eating. Like nothing happened. “Happened to me once on a flight,” she shrugged. “At least you had a napkin.”

We actually finished the date. And believe it or not? We’re going out again next week.

Moral of the story? If someone sticks around after you humiliate yourself in a fine dining establishment, they’re probably a keeper.