In this day and age, finding a decent guy at a bar, club, or even through work has failed for me. I had given up on meeting guys the traditional way, so I opted for the 21st Century way: online dating. More specifically, I would try out Tinder.
Let me begin by saying that I have some expectations when it comes to whom I swipe left and right to. My expectations are somewhat simple: don’t be a catfish, hold a decent conversation, be nice, and being attractive oftentimes helps.
After a couple hours of swiping, I matched with a 22 year-old man named Stavo; he lived a very exciting life – and I say that with as much sarcasm as possible; the guy worked at his family’s morgue. With that being said, he worked the graveyard shifts, and since I was an insomniac, it worked out great for the both of us. We would talk on the phone all night bonding over Game of Thrones theories, fun facts, or lame dad jokes he’d often tell. On the rare occasion if I were home alone, he’d tell me scary stories that would keep me up until the early hours of the morning.
Eventually text messages and phone calls led to meeting up in person at a coffee shop. The first date went well, he didn’t try anything stupid, in fact, he was extremely respectful – a nice change for once.
I had agreed to go on a second date, he said he would cook me dinner. I had walked to his apartment, it was just like I imagined it: the walls covered with books, records, and even mythological creature statues. Now, when a man offers to cook dinner, I don’t have the highest expectations; I think of a pizza or store bought spaghetti paired with a salad. With that being said, Stavo had outdone himself with the presentation of the food. The meat was covered in a seasoning that was both sweet and spicy at the same time, the vegetables had butter and sea salt melted on it, the potatoes were twice baked – my favorite. He cracked open a bottle of wine, and we said a toast.
“To Tinder,” he said beaming.
“To Tinder!” I responded, equally happy.
I took a bite of the meat and was a bit disappointed; it definitely looked better than it tasted. Luckily, when I mixed it in with the vegetables and potatoes, it was edible. I watched as Stavo poked around at his meat, taking one tiny bite.
“Not hungry?” I asked, dabbing the corners of my mouth with a napkin.
He shook his head and smiled. “I usually don’t eat what I cook – I feel like it isn’t up to my expectations. Besides, I had a double cheese burger an hour ago, I couldn’t help myself.”
He smiled sheepishly.
“Well, this is fantastic – you’ve really outdone yourself”, I said, knowing it was only half-truthful.
The end of the night came, and I was ready to go to bed.
“Thanks again for everything, this was a great dinner.”
He gave me a quick kiss goodnight, and off I went back to my house.
I was lying in bed tossing and turning – for some reason; my stomach was killing me, even after taking some quick relief medications for it. I walked to the washroom, and spent the rest of the night gripping the toilet bowl.
My parents had woken up from the amount of noise I was making and took me to the hospital where I got my stomach pumped. The doctors ran some tests to see what I ingested in the last 24 hours that made me so sick, and they came back with news that made me want to hurl once more: I had ingested pieces of embalmed human remains.
My stomach lurched.