First dates in 2026 are something I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. I’ve been on quite a few this year, and I swear it’s like each one was worse than the last. That’s why, when my date last week was actually going pretty well, I allowed myself to feel a little bit of hope. We matched on Tinder, of course, because where else would we have met? She only had like three photos on her profile, which, not gonna lie, made me a bit suspicious that she was a bot. In actuality, she happened to be the most sparkling conversationalist I’ve ever come across on one of those apps. It wasn’t until last week that I finally got to meet her in person. We’d literally FaceTimed every night after matching, but I was still preparing myself to be catfished. I don’t know. I’m paranoid. With a racing mind and heart, I waited in the parking lot of the restaurant for her to show up. Finally, I got the text. We found each other and, to my relief, she wasn’t just the same woman from the photos. She looked even ...