When her brother sets her up with a seemingly perfect gentleman, she’s hesitant, but gives it a shot. Flowers, charm, and a sweet smile make her wonder if he’s the real deal. When he insists on driving her home, a gut feeling whispers: Don’t.
She should’ve listened.
You know when someone says they have “the perfect guy” for you? Yeah, that’s exactly how this whole disaster started.
My brother Marcus had been going on about this Andy guy from his Saturday morning pickleball group for weeks.
“But he’s not just any guy,” Marcus said, smirking as he refilled his protein shake at my kitchen counter. “Polite.
Smart. Good job. Still single, though, for too long, if you ask me.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t fall out of my head.
“That’s what you said about Kevin, remember? The vintage spoon collector?”
“Andy’s different,” Marcus insisted, and there was something in his voice, half teasing, half genuinely hopeful, that made me pause mid-chop.
I was massacring some poor carrots for dinner, taking out my dating frustrations on root vegetables like any reasonable person would.
Here’s the thing about brothers: they never give up.
I’d honestly had enough of “nice guys” with hidden expiration dates, but something about Marcus’s tone wore me down.
Maybe it was the way he looked so hopeful, or maybe I was just tired of being the perpetually single woman at family dinners.
“Fine,” I said finally. “One date.
Just to prove I’m open to this whole thing.”
Famous last words, right?
So there I was the following Saturday, standing in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting my dress for the fifth time.
Why do we do this to ourselves? I mean, what’s the point of trying to look perfect for someone who might turn out to collect belly button lint or something equally disturbing?
At exactly seven o’clock, my doorbell rang.
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