The strangest date I’ve ever been on is where the woman ate about a dozen large dinner rolls and simultaneously talked frequently and copiously about the sexual positions she preferred.

Other than the dinner rolls thing, sounds like a guy’s dream date, right?

But you don’t understand, there is no “other than the dinner rolls” thing. She was eating those dinner rolls like she’d been on the ISS for a year with only Tang and some IV drips. She was snarfing them like they would cure the raging ebola she’d just picked up. She was consuming them like Bill Gates had made a billion dollar bet that she couldn’t clean out the restaurant’s dinner roll supply. I swear, this girl was inhaling dinner rolls like you and I would down a bag of M&Ms. I was beginning to worry about our waitress kicking us out. She probably thought the girl was tossing them into her purse or something. Me, I was guessing there was a singularity in her innards somewhere.

When I finally got up the nerve to ask, “So, what’s up with the dinner roll thing?” It was like nothing obviously bizarre was going on, when in fact I wanted to scream, “It’s like Godzilla devouring fucking Tokyo! I can’t take this any more!”

But if there were an “other than the dinner rolls” thing, maybe it still sounds like a guy’s dream encounter?

Well, not so much. Though she was cute and slim — despite her penchant for eating more bread than some entire countries — she was also extremely boring, annoying and strangely pushy. And she smelled strongly of cigarette smoke.

She wanted to go back to my place after dinner. I blurted out what was, I am sure, one of the lamest excuses imaginable for why this was not going to happen (I believed it involved something like, “Uhh, a friend is painting my house right now…”), and then I skedaddled back home nearly vowing to swear off women forever.

I don’t remember her name, but I do remember I never looked at dinner rolls the same way again.

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