I had a helluva day at work yesterday. After kicking ass for almost three weeks straight, some shit hit the fan. All at the same time. (That said: I’m trying not to think about it endlessly and kill myself over it.)
After a bad day do you know what’s not a good idea? Going on a date. With alcohol. And no food. But you know what I did?
I went on a date. After a bad day. Had two drinks. Without food.
Yeah, it was spectacular. After he announced that his 34 year old self really wanted kids. I should’ve just left it there but I didn’t. I ended up yelling at him.
Obviously I’m not seeing him again (nor would I want to), but I did send him a message this morning apologizing for being so… feisty (?) on my his first date in 3 years.
Let’s review the math: Date + drinks + bad day = A bad combination.