My last date started going sideways the
moment I saw her standing by the soda machine, looking as out of place as a ballet dancer at a monster truck rally. I'd suggested McDonald's because it was cheap, casual, and, most importantly, I was broke. She'd agreed with a little too much enthusiasm, which should have been my first clue."I'm Tiffany," she said, her voice a squeak that barely registered over the "I'm Lovin' It" jingle looping in my head. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was made out of wedding veil material.
"I'm Dave," I said, trying to smooth down my wrinkled band t-shirt. "So, uh, Big Mac or Quarter Pounder?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I don't eat meat. Or gluten. Or dairy. I was just going to get a water."
I stared at her, then at the greasy menu glowing above the register. "Right. A water. Classy."
We found a sticky booth in the corner. The conversation was like pulling teeth. I talked about my job fixing computers; she talked about the healing power of crystals. I was halfway through my second burger when she leaned forward, her eyes wide with a conspiratorial glimmer.
"You know," she whispered, glancing around the crowded dining room, "I have a confession. I have a thing for... public spaces."
I choked on a fry. "You mean, like, hiking?"
"No," she said, her voice dropping even lower. "I mean, like... right here. Under the table."
I froze, my burger halfway to my mouth. I looked around. A family of four was sitting in the next booth, their kids happily smearing ketchup all over the table. A guy in a security uniform was mopping up a spill ten feet away.
"Here?" I hissed. "Tiffany, this is the happiest place on Earth, not the backseat of a '87 Civic."
"Exactly," she breathed, her hand disappearing under the table. "The thrill is in the juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane." Before I could protest, her foot was in my lap, her toes wiggling with a determined, exploratory energy.
I felt a wave of panic. I looked over at the security guard, who was now staring directly at our booth, a look of profound boredom on his face. I tried to shift my body, to subtly push her foot away, but it was like trying to discreetly wrestle an octopus.
"Stop it," I mouthed, my face turning a shade of red that clashed horribly with the yellow arches.
"Just relax," she whispered, a blissful smile on her face. "Let the Ronald McDonald energy flow through you."
That was it. I had to get out. I slammed the rest of my burger, chugged my Coke, and stood up so fast I knocked over my tray. Fries scattered across the floor like greasy, golden confetti.
"I gotta go," I said, my voice an octave too high. "I just remembered... I left my... crystal... in the oven."
I didn't wait for a reply. I practically ran out of there, leaving Tiffany to her public space fetish and a family of four who were now staring at the mess I'd made. I didn't stop running until I was a block away, my heart pounding. I swear I could hear the faint sound of "I'm Lovin' It" chasing me down the street, a mocking anthem to the weirdest, most horrifying date of my life. And the worst part? A tiny, shameful part of me was a little turned on. I need help.