Neverland
August 16, 2026
“Do you think I came all this way just so we could have dinner?”
I stared at the man across from me, trying not to act like my father…
I grew up tiptoeing around King Kong-level rage. I’m always one idiot away from carrying on the family legacy…
Here’s a charming childhood memory: my father once became so furious with me that he stood over my tiny body, grabbed his shirt, and tore it clean in half like Hulk Hogan entering the ring at WrestleMania.
“I just don’t know what to do with you!” he shouted. And off he went…
What I’m trying to say is… whenever a man begins performing outrage because reality has failed to obey him, I recognize the genre.
“Yes,” I said. “That is generally what a date is.”
Now, let’s rewind again — this time only a few hours…
This schmuck and I had matched on a dating app. After a few weeks of texting, he decided to come and take me out to dinner…
When the time came, I had completely forgotten about our arrangement and, to make it worse, my cousin was expecting me for dinner too. So I did what any scheduling genius would do: I went to both!
Miraculously, my little shenanigans went off without a hitch.
Dinner was fine… There was in his manner a certain indefinable peculiarity — an awkwardness, an air of superficiality, which I could neither account for nor entirely dismiss… As the evening drew to its close, we made our way to his car, where I offered the customary civilities expected between two near-strangers preparing to part.
“Good night. It was a pleasure.”
He looked at me.
“So… what? You’re not coming with me? You’re going home now?!”
“Yeah, of course I am.”
“Oh, no I hate sleeping alone in a new place. What’s the problem? Why don’t you come spend the night with me?”
“Listen, I just met you, I don’t know you. I am going home, and you’ll be fine.”
That was when he gripped the steering wheel, then anything else within reach, visibly struggling to master his rage.
“So you misled me? You got me to come all this way, plan an entire two-day trip, and pay for a hotel room — just to tell me I’ll be sleeping alone?!”
Apparently, by consenting to dine with a grown man who had undertaken the journey entirely of his own volition, I had somehow incurred an obligation to satisfy the desire that brought him there… What a remarkably pathetic little man.
“Look,” I said. “I neither asked nor persuaded you to come. That decision was entirely your own.”
“But what did you think this was for?” he demanded. “Do you think I came all this way just so we could have dinner? And then what — I go back to my hotel alone?”
Apparently, yes was not the answer he wanted… Unfortunately, it was the only one I had.
“This is becoming too disrespectful,” I said. “I’m leaving. Bye.”
And I left.
The good news is, this charming little encounter brought to light one of online dating’s best-kept secrets. Apparently, a great many men regard dating apps as a free alternative to sex workers. Isn’t that a bargain!
The code phrase is “Still figuring it out”. Oh, I just love it!
It is so wonderfully mysterious.
What is he figuring out?
His sexuality? His purpose? The last forty years?
You are a fully grown man with a receding hairline and enough romantic history to produce several seasons of television. If you still do not know what you want, perhaps a dating profile is not what you need.
Perhaps you need a meeting with yourself.
Girls, the very instant you see or hear the code phrase, run!
Men being men, once they realized that casual sex and minimal effort was not a particularly compelling proposition — women tend not to buy it — they rebranded it.
Now the packaging reads “Looking for a long-term partner.”
As always, one must consult the fine print…
A long-term relationship may involve late-night invitations only, chronic inconsistency, emotional unavailability, and an urgent desire to get you into a hotel room before either of you has learned the other’s last name.
By now, it is clear that matches made on dating apps are more likely to have been forged in one of the deeper circles of hell than arranged in heaven — and should be trusted accordingly…
The hilarious part is, we continue to hear theories about women dating in pursuit of a free dinner.
So, let’s run the numbers on this alleged scheme…
A good mascara alone costs $50. Does anyone in full possession of their faculties truly believe a woman sporting a $200 manicure will mobilize $3,000 worth of cosmetics, do her hair, and sacrifice two hours of her life — all to secure the crown jewel of modern courtship: a complimentary salad?
Welcome to Neverland.
The boys are still figuring it out.
Thank you for reliving this moment with me!
See you next Sunday at 4.
Love, Kiki