I had just turned 30 and was so full of confidence and happy with my life. I happened to go to my doctor earlier in the week and got a clean bill of health, blood count, blood pressure, and spermonly thing I had asked for was suggestions to curb my farting (by the way, the female doctor’s expression was priceless). She suggests I do a colonic cleanser, and she gives me this stuff and says take to it over the weekend. I take it and forget all about it. On my way out, I meet the incredibly hot receptionist I have had my eyes on for a while. So, full of testosterone and confidence, I commit to the Kamikaze suicidal mission of asking her out.
To my surprise, she says yes. We set a date for the next day. I forget about it and go have drinks with my mates and return early the next morning with a hangover. I woke up midday, regrouped, ran errands, and then followed the doctor’s orders by taking that colon cleanser at around 5 p.m.
Six p.m. comes around and guess who calls: Yes, the cute receptionist asking what time I should pick her up. She tells me how she was so happy that I asked her out. I pick her up take her to the restaurant, and it’s smooth sailing, right? Wrong.
Midway through dinner, you guessed it — rumble in the jungle.
With absolutely no warning, sensations I would not wish on my enemy overtake me. Forget waterboarding — give that colonic cleanser to terrorists, and they will let it out (the information, I mean). Anyway, I take it to the men’s room, and I barely got there in time.
After 10 minutes in there of nonstop involuntary release, I called the manager, tipped her to explain my situation , which, by the smell, she had no problem believing.
She called a cab service to take my date home, and I texted her that I felt sick and arranged for her ride. No reply from her, but the manager said she had explained and the lady left.
You would think that was the end, right? Wrong.
After an hour, I finally got things under control, I paid my bill, tipped really well for the odours I left, and for them not calling the paramedics, and I do my walk of shame out the restaurant to my car. All I wanted was to get home to my own bathroom and call my doctor and give her an ear full, but at my car stands the cute receptionist.
She thought I had seriously ditched her and had decided to wait me out. I can’t recall that conversation — she was very vocal in showing her displeasure…but I remember I threw her in the car and rushed home. I spent the whole night on my camode, drinking bottled water and watching Netflix on my laptop.
But in the morning, she was still there on the couch, snoring away, and we have been dating since. Needless to say, I hate the question “How did you guys meet?”
Culled from http://uk.askmen.com/top_10/dating/top-10-worst-dating-stories_8.html