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I'm sure most dates from hell start out with the classic last thought: "Well, maybe I'm wrong about him or her." It could be possible. We are always told to never to judge a book by it's cover, and to always have an open mind. But at what point do you start to listen to that voice in your head that tells you "maybe this isn't such a good idea?"

Perhaps like most bad decisions, my story starts in college. I was taking the required English 101 class, and I understood the material quite well. We would grade homework and quizzes by passing our papers to the assigned person sitting behind us. My paper grader was a boy who never talked to me. The first two times we graded papers I was handed a paper with 100% written on top, although as I was grading, I realized that my paper had a few wrong answers. I assumed my paper grader had just missed these answers, and would write the actual score over the 100%. By the third time, I got a 100% with a little heart around it. I turned back, he just winked. It one flash I saw how easy this semester could be. For two weeks, I lived the fantasy. I did the bare minimum, and was still ranked at the top of the class thanks to nothing more than smiling and winking.

One day, I got to this early morning class, and found that it had been canceled. I turned around and was about to go back home and sleep, when I found my favorite paper grader leaning against the wall. For the first time, he spoke to me. After a little small talk, he asked if I wanted to go to McDonalds. I had a moment when I thought that it may not be a good idea to get involved with a man who feels he has to pay you off, but acted other wise. We walked out to the parking lot, got in his van, and headed off.

From this point forward, this morning date became something along the lines of a Saturday Night Live Sketch. It's Mr. No Internal Monolog! While munching on my cinnamon roll, he asked if I had any brothers or sisters. I smiled and said that I'm an only child. His response: "happy little surprise were we?" I've always been petite, and he felt the need to find out why: "You're not bulimic are you?" I think our whole date at McDonalds can be summed up with one carefully crafted phrase: "You're really pretty. I like girls with small breasts." We all say stupid things when we are nervous. I would have sympathized, but he never seemed to realize that the things that were coming out of his mouth were insulting. In his mind, he was the bachelor of the year.

Finally, we got back

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