My Date Horror Story

Before my amazing boyfriend, there was one terrible date that I went on. Last fall, I went on a milkshake date with a guy that I met from a film project. Who doesn’t love a good milkshake date to their local Stewart’s? Well, little did I know that there were two different Stewarts in town, and one was significantly worse than the other. I know what you’re thinking, “how could someone mess up a milkshake?” As crazy as it sounds, the Stewart’s we visited made me incredibly SICK. 

A botched milkshake isn’t as bad as undercooked meat or anything, but I promise you at that moment they were deadly. We started off our date with a totally safe night drive with a seemingly perfect stranger. Nowadays I realize how dangerous it was for me to willingly jump into the passenger seat of a random guy’s car, but that was the last of my worries that night.

Everything was going great until we gulped down our Stewart’s milkshakes. Milkshakes are usually a delicious swirl of ice cream and milk that create the sweet treat we all love. This milkshake however was incredibly thin and watered down. At first I thought nothing of it, but then as our drive went along I felt the most crippling headache. The urge to vomit the entirety of the contents in my body quickly became a symptom of my milkshake mishap. 

Imagine going on a night drive, the stars are out, the conversation is flowing, and all you could do was pray to God that you would survive this night. While our date was going well, I had to kill the moment by telling my date about my seemingly deadly situation. So what does he do? Drop me off at my Resident Hall? 

No. This man pulled over to the side of an abandoned house and let me vomit out my guts near the passerby partiers who were enroute to the party across the street. Now the mood was REALLY set: the milkshake was being regurgitated, trap music was humming nearby, and the abandoned house was comforting. 

One may think that my date would finally let me off the hook with a pat on the back and a polite ghosting, but he was now invested in my well being. We returned to the same deadly Stewarts for the second time that night for my date to pick up a safety kit of water, gum, and ibuprofen. Suddenly my date became my nurse for the next half an hour, determined to not only look over me but to make the most of the night. 

My night came to an end two hours later when I sickly passed out in my bed and swore to avoid another Stewart’s milkshake massacre.

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