42 Things Everyone Is Thinking While They’re Shopping At Walmart

… or at Target, KMart, Costco or any other variety superstore that requires a list, a plan, and a hefty dose of patience.

  1.  Do I need a cart?
  2. I should probably get a cart.
  3. Damnit, I’m getting a basket. Even though they hurt my arms; the handles aren’t very plush.
  4. Okay, where’s my list? Did I bring my list? Dammit, guess I’m going rogue.
  5. I’m not buying sale items, I’m only here for the essentials.
  6. OH! Look! 50% off bathing suits!
  7. Focus.
  8. Without a list, I’m just going to go down every aisle in case I miss something.
  9. Wait, I’ll stop in the greeting card section for a minute… or twelve.
  10. Honestly, who just LEAVES their cart in the middle of the aisle?
  11. If it’s empty, I can take it, right?
  12. Counting three, two, one. Okay, it’s mine.  Peace out, dumbass basket.
  13. Crap, this has a messed up wheel.  That’s why it was abandoned.
  14. WHERE THE HELL IS MY LIST?
  15. Did I bring my phone?
  16. I want to ride those display bicycles.
  17. Why is my cart squeaking?
  18. Okay, time to check out, I’ve been here too long.
  19. Why did I grab Twinkies AND Devil Dogs?
  20. So, which line looks fastest?
  21. Far left, far left. ATTACK, ATTACK.
  22. Fuck.  I should have gone right.
  23. I shouldn’t have spent so much time in the card aisle.  I always get sucked in.
  24. Are old people always asking questions about sales?
  25. That guy got in line at the same time as me, let’s have a race.
  26. He’s totally going to pay before me. Damnit.
  27. WHY ARE YOU DOING SEPARATE TRANSACTIONS, WOMAN?
  28. Should I switch lines?
  29. No, I’m committed now.
  30. Do I need a snack while I’m waiting?  I like Reeses.  OH, Butterfingers.
  31. I’ll read a magazine.  Is it cheating if I read it but don’t buy it?
  32. The stuff on the exit shelves look good, how do I buy that but stay in line?
  33. You actually don’t need an inflatable pool to put in your pool, get with it.
  34. WHY HAVE I NOT MOVED IN ONE HUNDRED MINUTES?
  35. She’s using pennines.  This old woman is paying in pennies.  I hate her.
  36. Someone get this woman a debit card!
  37. That guy is about to be at the register.  I can totally win this game.
  38. Scan away, cashier, scan away.
  39. I’ll load up my belongings on the conveyor belt, it will be helpful, and I always dreamed of ringing up items as a cashier when I was a child.
  40. Swipe!
  41. No thanks, I don’t want my receipt with four items and six thousand miles of coupons.
  42. GET ME OUT OF HERE.

What drives YOU insane when you’re shopping?

Mascot’s Most Eligible Bachelors: Cap’n Crunch

Snow White got her Prince Charming.  Don’t these down to earth dudes deserve a shot at love?

Each week, I’ll be profiling some of the world’s most suitable men.  You’ll get the good, the bad, and the ugly on why these guys haven’t been able to hold down a steady girlfriend.

Introducing: Mascot’s Most Eligible Bachelors.

Nautical Headshot!

Nautical Headshot!

Name: Horatio Magellan Crunch, AKA: Cap’n Crunch

Born: 1963, Crunch Island, Sea of Milk; owns lavish beachfront vacation home at Mount Crunchmore

Height: Unknown

Occupation: Captain of the S.S. Guppy

Known Enemies: Jean LaFoote

Hobbies: Sailing the open seas

About the Cap’n: Horatio is not your average guy, in fact, he’s pretty darn unique.  While most men hold a typical 9-5 job in order to pay the bills, he fantasizes about exploring new lands and setting sail to tropical destinations.

He is on currently the quest to find his first mate.  And would love an able bodied seawoman who does not abandon ship due to seasickness, as they will be living aboard the S.S. Guppy while they traverse the globe in search of new ingredients for their cereal.

On his quest for love, Horatio has run into several women who just couldn’t hold his interests.  He’s ready for love, and wants to find the anchor to his boat and the wind to his sails.

A perfect date includes a tour of the S.S. Guppy, sailing into the sunset and bonding over a bowl of cereal in the Crow’s Nest. As far as dates go, he’s not too hard to please.  He’s willing to dote on his partner and has been known to fly his significant other to his vacation home on Mt. Crunchmore.

The downfall is that he will need a woman who is either committed to waiting for him to return home, or a born sea detective, as he has been lost at sea for twenty-years.

 

An Open Letter To Everyone At The Airport

Dear Fellow Travelers, Passengers Sharing My Aircraft, And That Asshole Trying To Stuff An Elephant In The Overhead Bin,

I hope this letter finds you well.

If it does not find you well, I am going to assume you had a shitty run through airport security, and as a result, decided to remove common sense, manners, and basic problem solving skills from your life for the next couple hours while you’re aboard the mile-high skybus, subsequently making everyone else’s life more difficult.

You know, because you are the first person to ever have a horrible time going through the process of boarding a plane.

I’ve come to accept the inevitable invasive body search ritual while my bag gets a conveyor belt CAT scan.   If I get by unscathed, I consider it good karma for the time I gave that homeless lady a coffee.

Everyone needs to accept that this is what the standard precautionary measures for security clearance are.

We’re never going to be able to bring our brita filtered water through the pearly gates of Laguardia, so after security, go to the water fountain and fill up your reusable bottle like the plebeian you are and move on.

Amen, license plate, amen.

Amen, license plate, amen.

If you line up before your boarding group is called and block the handicap lane, I hate you.  I hope the next time you’re at a restaurant they give your meal to a homeless person outside and still make you pay for it.

Travelers bringing luggage onto the plane, please assess the size and dimensions.  When you purchased this piece of luggage, if it didn’t come with a tag that read “CARRY ON” this means you probably cannot carry it on the plane without ruining someone else’s day.

If by chance, you make it through the ticket checkpoint unnoticed and roll your monstrosity of a bag onto the jet, putting it SIDEWAYS in the overhead bins will ultimately cause some other passenger, one who followed the rules and regulations of carry-on baggage, extreme anxiety when he or she is not able to fit their luggage above their seat.

Forgive me, I know your bag is important, but go fuck yourself and learn to consolidate like everyone else.

Sidenote: People who automatically place their luggage sideways in the overhead bins are most likely also the people who hog the armrests, and probably did not share toys as a child. 

Getting up immediately after the plane lands and removing your bag is fine, I guess. But if you’re pissed off about standing in line and wait for another twenty minutes to disembark you’re not being a logical human being.  Wipe the pout off your face, exercise a little patience, and wait until the line moves.

We’re all stuck here, honey.  And we all want to get off the plane.  But you’re in row 27 of 30, it’s going to take a few extra minutes.

Look, I get it, flying sucks, we all want to get off the plane and onto our destination.  Your needs and excitements are not unique, put on a smile, or at least stop frowning, and deal with it.  If you wanted to be in control of your spatial constraints, you should have driven.

Also, read SkyMall, it will totally lighten your mood.

Sincerely,

Everyone Else At The Airport, Those On Your Flight, And The Person Who Had To Check His or Her Bag Last Minute Because You Took Up Too Much Space

Your turn!! What do you hate about traveling?  Did I leave anything out?

 

Does Heaven Have An Open Bar?

Dichotomy City.

Dichotomy City.

I have already talked about how I’m going to hell, but since turning twenty-five, my mother told me to grow up I’m all about making dramatic life changes in order to become a better person.

A few weeks ago I was at the gas station when a homeless woman came up to me and asked me for money so she could buy a coffee.  I never carry cash, so I went in with her and used my debit card to get her a medium light and sweet.

The next day a man asked me for some money so he could buy a T pass. Again, I never carry cash, but I swiped him through the turnstile so he could catch the next train.

I don’t carry cash for a variety of reasons.  One, I am too disorganized in my purse to ever hold on to any amount of money.  Second, using credit cards gives the illusion that I’m not spending real money, so if I don’t see the cash physically disappear, it must still be in my bank account (this is completely rational thinking, by the way).

But not carrying cash in those two instances allowed me to do something good with my money.  Now I know buying a coffee and a train ride aren’t the basis for getting into heaven, but I have to believe it’s a good start.

This whole path towards greatness got me thinking about what heaven must be like.  And if I’m going to be in it, there definitely needs to be a few things to make my eternal stay in the afterlife a comfortable one.  I made this list assuming bacon was already present, because frankly, excluding it would be preposterous.

Here is a list of the things that (absolutely) have to be in heaven:

1. Naps

You have to be outside of your mind if you don’t think that I will spend every night dreaming about nap time, and every day planning out when it’s happening.

2. Wine

Grapes on grapes on grapes.  Wine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wine is water, and water is wine. I think the bible says that.

3. Buffets

I can’t be in an eternal place of peace and serenity and not have unlimited access to selections from Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and KFC.  KFC biscuits are a deity.

4. Teleports

Aint nobody got time to wait in line in heaven. I can’t be dealing with traffic up in the sky when I want to go to Cloud Bar for a 7pm dinner reservation.

5. Jax Teller

I don’t understand why I would have to explain this one.

6. Baby Animals

Puppies will always be puppies, and baby pandas will be my pillows, and there will be a baby jungle full of baby lions, tigers, bears, OH MY! Basically heaven will be Neverland for animals.

7. Trampolines

No one has a bad day after playing on a trampoline. I will also miraculously be gifted the talent of being able to do gymnastics, so trampolines will have infinitely more applications in my afterlife.

8. Good Hair Days

There is no way I don’t wake up in heaven with perfect tendrils or tresses or curls, it’s just not possible. Hair always looks good in heaven. I think it’s because there’s no humidity or something. Don’t quote me on that.

…

In the vein of all things glorious, there are definitely a list of things that are, under no circumstances, allowed in heaven (with or without me).

1. The DMV

The DMV belongs in hell. Those people probably didn’t pay their parking tickets and have more of a use for it anyways. Heaven only lets in good drivers.

2. Airport Security

I’m going to fly with nine hundred water bottles and regular sized shampoos.

3. Push Button/Hand Sensor Faucets

Heaven trusts people to turn the faucet off when you’re done washing your hands.  The people in hell deserve to have sensors tell them when they’ve hit their water quota.

4. Food Allergies

I’ve lived too long with a dairy allergy. I reserve the right to gorge my face with cheese and ice cream, or cheese-flavored-ice cream in heaven.  Food allergies are going to hell. BE GONE.

 

This Is Why My Face Is Messed Up.

Oh wow, she’s cute!

Well, it’s messed up because of genetics and my inability to correctly apply make up.  But that’s neither here nor there.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane…

I’ll be the first person to admit that I am not fond of someone telling me what to do.

But being a twenty-five year old with extensive nanny experience, I realize that the rules and regulations established for us as children were meant to keep us safe.  But that never stopped me from giving the stop sign the middle finger as I rolled through it, or being disruptive to the point where I was actually kicked out of girl scouts.

Growing up with three younger brothers, I never really had a chance to become a girly-girl.  I was always playing in the mud, getting shot at with paintball guns, and learning the names of all the baseball players on the New York Yankees.

My brothers taught me to be tough, stubborn, and rebellious above anything else.

I’m not going to say I’m a criminal, but I have taken a few creative liberties when it comes to following the law.

Here’s a few that I’ve broken:

The Laws of the Road: I’ve gotten more than my fair share of tickets.

The Unwritten Law of Digestion: I don’t wait 30 minutes to swim.

The Drinking Age Law: I had wine at my first communion, broke that law in a church.  Does that count as two?

But these are all trivial compared to the time that I broke The First Law of Motion.

Sir Isaac Newton states that an object will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force – basically if you’re moving, you’ll keep moving until something stops you, like a wall, or in my case, a big ass tree.

Let me set the scene for a minute.

My mom is a crazy runner, like six miles every other day.  My brother had just gotten this spiffy new Huffy bike with grippy handlebars and a comfy seat.  Like, way better than mine.  She asked me to accompany her on her run and I said yes.

Naturally, I took his bike instead of mine (so I guess I’ve stolen too?) and embarked on what was supposed to be a six mile adventure with my mom.

Enter the law of motion.

I ride out of the driveway and turn to go down the hill.  I knew in my head that I could roll down the hill faster than my mom’s two, tiny, Irish feet could carry her, so I told her that I’d meet her by the pond at the end of the road.  I wanted to feel the wind in my hair and the breeze on my face without interruption.

I was riding at a leisurely pace when all the sudden the force that interrupted my inertia joyride came out of nowhere… and then I broke my face.

Yup, stay in school kids.  Pay attention to science, or your teachers, or whoever tells you something and says it’s important.  If you don’t, you’ll ultimately end up breaking laws, and breaking laws causes you to crash your bike into a tree and end up looking like this:

Is that a bruise or are you just happy to see me?

Result: 6 broken bones in the face, two in the arm, and a popped blood vessel in my left eye.

Side note: Having a black eye, a broken face, and arm sling swag in my third grade school photo did give me some serious street cred.

But it also could have been because I told people I got into a fight over a Twix and they needed to “see what happened to the other guy.”

 

Is There Anything Worse Than A Bruised Banana?

20140611-051241-18761863.jpg

EW.

I say this with the utmost sensitivity, but also not being sensitive at all because I’m at the airport, sans coffee, and all I had to look forward to after the debacle that is TSA security was the banana I liberated from my office yesterday afternoon.

To my dismay, after removing said freed work banana out of my trusty satchel, I found that it looks mildly discolored.

Normally, this is fine. I’ll take a brown spotted over a hard green any day of the week and twice on Sunday, but this particular banana was full of lies and deceit.

After the initial peel, which usually fills me with glee and anticipation of eating a potassium induced fruit that, after consumption, alleviates me of an annoying pulsating cramp in my left shoulder from sleeping weird, I noticed that the one or two spots on the outside revealed a more disturbing inside.

This banana was dead.

And there was no saving it.

It was like I opened a yellow protective peel expecting to see a freestanding fruit, yet I was greeted with a pile of brown mush that was only held together by a damaged outer shell.

The banana that held my hand through security, the banana that helped me save one whole dollar at Dunkin Donuts, the banana I worked tirelessly to liberate from the kitchen cages of corporate greed, my friends, that banana was inedible.

If you know anything about airports, you know that getting through security unscathed and with your entrails intact is a feat most people don’t overcome.

But I thought luck was on my side When the TSA woman at the initial check point let me know that I basically don’t look like a terrorist.

Round One: Meg – 1, Airport – 0.

I was selected to pass through security in the fast lane. No shoe removal, no invasive body scans, no suitcase search, just an innocent face and a plane to catch.

And the thought in the back of my mind that I would be enjoying the
deliciously ripe banana that accompanied me through airport security.

After pretty much getting upgraded to the first class security line, and fast tracking it through metal detectors like it ain’t no thang, I was shocked that after the good fortunes I was again rewarded with a wonderful window seat to watch planes departing whilst eating my potassium.

Round Two: Meg – 2, Airport – 0.

Only then did I realize that my morning would take a turn for the worst.

I could not enjoy my banana.

I couldn’t even look it in the eye and tell it why I was throwing it out.  It just needed to go.

I am hungry. I am tired. And I am still twitching in my left shoulder because I slept weird.

Fuck you, banana. Get a hard shell. Adapt, evolve, do something and stop ruining my life.

Airport/Banana – 1, Meg – 0.

https://thehalfandhalfblog.com/press/

ATTENTION: Here’s What The Tabloids Are Saying

newspaper-clipart-2

No press is bad press, right?

I’ve been doing some research and on most famous websites, they have a tab appropriately titled, “Press” where a visitor will click to see what the media has said about their work.

I didn’t want to be left out of the loop, so I reached out to a few of my besties asking for comments and statements about my writing so I can fill out my Press tab, and ultimately skyrocket myself to stardom.

If you’re wondering if any of these statements were fabricated, the answer is: How dare you doubt my connections with Justin Timberlake and Chuck Norris! No, they are not made up.

Oprah really dubbed me the next Plato, and NSync really did write that song about me.

I’m sorry to all those teenage girls who thought they were special and assumed it was written about them; you weren’t and Lance Bass is still gay.

If you’d be so inclined, hop on over to my brand, spankin’, new Press tab, and let me know what you think!  

… please click that link…

SIDENOTE: If anyone would like me to drum up a quote for a personal Press tab on their blog, please let me know, I am more than willing to give glowing, over-embellished reviews, statements, and comments, especially if I can include profanity and my affinity for BBQ sauce. 

 

If you were to write a press release about your blog, what would people say?

It Has Come To My Attention That I Am Deformed.

doctor-holding-prescription

Thanks, Dr. Obvious.

I didn’t know if I should speak out on my personal struggle with this particular malformation, but after reading this post on a similar subject, I felt it was my civic duty to enlighten the interwebs and at the same time, acknowledge my condition, so in case I become rich and famous, TMZ and E! News will not be able to use it against me.

It is also high time I take my responsibility as a newfound adult seriously and admit that I am not perfect.

In fact, I am deformed.

A month or so ago, my boyfriend was visiting, and it since was under sixty degrees outside we were able to hold hands whilst traversing around the city.

Sidenote: This may or may not be another unknown medical condition I need to research, because if the weather is above sixty-eight degrees, my hands sweat uncontrollably and I can’t lock fingers with anyone or anything.  I used to nanny and when I would walk anywhere with the kids, I had to assist them through the crosswalks by grabbing the collars of their t-shirts like dogs in order to avoid an unwanted sweaty palm debacle. 

But anyways, I’ll look into that another time, back to the part where the air was the perfect amount of crisp so I could link phalanges without fear of being dumped due to aggressive hand perspiration.

He picks up my hand, examines it, and then says something that smacks me in the face (metaphorically) with a big, fat dose of deformed reality.

“You have toe fingers.”

It was at that moment I realized I did not have hands fit for a ring model, rather my mitts looked like I should be wearing socks instead of gloves.  I was horrified.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

After he pointed out my enlarged nail beds and all encompassing fake fingers, I refused to give high fives. I didn’t want to shake any more hands.  It was embarrassing.  I was messed up.

Moments, maybe hours went by feeling singled out, but a side-by-side comparison of my thumb and my big toe revealed that his accusations were not in vain, they were actually true.

Thumb or Big Toe?

Twins?

Then I realized how inexplicably good I was at handstands when I was a kid and it was probably a direct result of the Meg Lago toe finger epidemic.

I also conveniently remembered how committed I was to the Toe Sock trend in the early 2000’s, which makes sense now since they are essentially gloves for your feet.  I was a foot game pioneer at an early age, and no one sought to hire me for various endorsements.

Honestly, toe socks would probably still be cool if Nike or Adidas had called me when I was thirteen for a sponsorship.  Let that just sink in for a second.

I just want the world to know that Toe Fingers exist, and if you have them, announce yourself to the world like me.  We can start a support group, talk about all the things we wish we could do if we were only born normal.

We can wear gloves on our feet and socks on our hands, parading about like we own the world slapping soccer balls into goals and making foot fives the new craze on the streets.

Somebody get me some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

Somebody get some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

I guess diversity is what makes the world turn.  We all have differences, and mine just happen to be the sheer fact that I have feet hands and I’m not afraid to show it.

Girl Scouts: The Most Notorious Gang In History

gang (noun): a group of people which shares an identity and a common purpose; often know to fight against other groups with similar interests. 

Pouty Meg, front and center.

Pouty Meg, front and center. #RuthlessTroop156

Have you ever tried to say “No,” to a gaggle of five-year-old girls, all of whom are dead set on winning first place in a bake sale competition?

If you were one of the few brave souls who stood up to the corrupt tactics of using seasonal treats to transform innocent girls into tyrannical, power hungry  preteens, you probably did not live to tell the tale.

So we salute you, brave, dead soul, for your attempts to stand up to the most notorious gang in history: The Girl Scouts of America.

To the naked eye, a Girl Scout is a poster of all that is good in the universe: a volunteer at retirement centers, one who spends time picking up trash around local parks, earning badges and patches for being active in their respective communities.

But a closer look into the organization reveals cut throat sales techniques, questionable initiation rituals, and heinously manufactured uniforms.  These girls are highly trained cookie assassins, and they will attack you when you are weakest.

You may think I’m exaggerating.  But I am not.  I am a survivor of the GSoA.  I’ve lived through it, and I’m here to explain why the Girl Scouts organization just a mirage for an undercover street gang of elementary school girls.

According to this article, here is what constitutes a gang:

1.  Organized in some way, often with clear leaders and a hierarchy, and that the members gather to socialize and carry out various activities on a regular basis.

Troops leaders are the head honchos of the Girl Scouts.  These women, usually mothers related to a girl in the respective troop, will coordinate, plan, and execute meetings on a weekly basis.  Discussion topics of relevance include but are not limited to: scheming various sales strategies for seasonal supplies, decorate clothing items with symbols of segmented troop for unique identifier and easy avoidance of “friend or foe” when in the streets.

2.  The shared identity of gang members can be based on ethnicity, culture, class, religion, or another common thread which allows people to find something of interest in each other.

Girls are usually grouped together based on initial elementary friend groups, and or community based neighborhoods, or ‘hoods.’  These girls generally have common interests based on blocks where they live, classes, and school bus routes.

3.  Members may choose to identify themselves with nicknames, tattoos, specific slang, distinctive graffiti tags, or specific styles of dress. 

Daisies, Brownies, Juniors, Cadets – you see where I’m going with this – just climbing the gang ranks. If you didn’t have patches on patches sewn to your vest, you knew you didn’t try and no one respected you.  You had to have a vest so patched out, it looked like a quilt on your back.  Nothing less than perfection was accepted.

LightenedWhiteBackgroundMyUltimategroup100_Years_of_Scouting_No_Copy_4-27-11

Collectively identified with distinctively unique clothing.

4.  Often, if not always require indicative hand gesture, slogan, identifying sign or graffiti during meetings and greetings.

GetImgVlt1

Self explanatory.

5.  Seeks to exercise control over a particular geographic location or region, or it may simply defend its perceived interests against rivals.

Girl Scouts are constantly defending coveted neighborhood territory against rival gangs like: other girl scout troops – specifically those within the same elementary school – the dreaded boy scouts, do good church-led youth groups, and/or any extracurricular activity dedicated to the betterment of society as a whole.

6.  Infamous for being involved in activities of questionable legality.

Bragging rights for most cookies sold was essential, prudent, and imperative.  Losing was not an option.  If you had to work twelve-hour sale days, you did it.  If you had to walk eight miles in your fifth grade shoes after soccer practice, you did it.  We learned one slogan, ABC: Always Be Closing.

There were no tears, only triumphs.

—

Always remember, if you see something, say something.  Girl Scouts are taking over our communities one box of cookies at a time.  Do your due diligence to stop your sisters, daughters, and friends from joining.

But if you have a hook-up to some Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Do-Si-Dos, hell any of those delicious seasonal treats, email me.  Let’s talk, I’m never above an under the table transaction. 

In Response To This Ridiculous Article On First Dates, Here’s What Normal People Are Thinking.

rapid-attraction

I’m assuming this is who wrote the article.

First dates are one of the most awkward experiences you will have in your life.

I like to think despite my inability to adhere to social cues or look directly into someone’s eyeball without questioning if that person thinks I’ve turned into a gargoyle, I can pretty much handle myself on a first date.

I’ve accepted the awk.  I’m quirky, or at least that’s what I tell myself while I wrap my giraffe-patterned scarf around my neck before walking out my front door.  If he doesn’t like me, it’s his loss, right?

I saw this article on Elite Daily entitled 21 Things You Definitely Thought About Your Partner On Your First Date, and I thought it would be a lot of talk about wine and snacks.

But, after reading it, I’d like someone to call a psych ward, because this girl is off her goddamn rocker.

Like, I’m talking a stage five clinger, selfie-addict, don’t care how hot you are, you’re still insane, girl.

I want to bring it back to earth here and revise all of the things that people definitely think about on a first date.

Editor's Note: Original article's 21 thoughts in blue. 
My 21 thoughts are black, like my soul.

1.  Wait, I’m the first to arrive? You mean, he’s not here yet? Wow. Okay. Definitely not off to a good start.

Being the first to arrive on a date is AWESOME.  Not only do you get to sit down and not have to worry about walking around the restaurant like a lost kid looking for his mother in a grocery store, but you can have have a couple wines and use that liquid courage for a good opening line when he does arrive.

2. Oh, wait, there he is. Oh, and he’s cute. Okay, okay, I like where this is going.

Please don’t act like you haven’t stalked him on social media.  In this day and age, you know what you’re getting into before you commit to a first date.  You would never agree to going out with someone before you saw what he looks like. Blind dates are for blind people.

3.  He better not order for me – or get something healthy and petite because I’m definitely getting the steak. This restaurant has awesome steak.

If he orders something healthy and petite, sorry to break it to you, but you’re on a date with a gay man.  Boys do not care about first impressions, all they know is that they are looking to subside one of two primal urges, nourishment or sex.

4.  Okay, he’s gainfully employed (check!), omg! he’s talking about his mom (check check!) and he loves pizza. I think I’m in love.

Again, if you’re with a man who doesn’t love pizza, you’re actually probably out with a woman who has too many dietary restrictions and pretends to be allergic to gluten. 

5.  Oh, wait, do I spy a gray hair?

There was a girl in my fifth grade class that had grey hairs. I’m sure your pubescent mane wasn’t the talk of the town, and if you didn’t dye your hair seven ways to Sunday, you’d have some imperfections showing through, too.

6.  Yep. Definitely a gray. Crap! Lookawaylookawaylookaway.Don’t stare at the gray.

You’re a jackass.  And it’s grey not gray. 

7.  Should I tell him that there’s food in his teeth? Like, wedged between his front teeth? Do you think he’ll notice later and be embarrassed? Wait, do I have food in my teeth?

If you’re the type of person that would let anyone walk around with food in their mouth, you need to reevaluate your soul and maybe get a new one.  And I HOPE you have food in your teeth.

8. Is it just me or does he have a big head? Right? I mean, I definitely don’t want to date a guy with a big head. What if our kids have big heads? Ugh. Hope they get my head.

Why are you thinking about your spawn already?  You’ve known each other for an hour. Red flag.

9.  How long is socially acceptable to spend in the bathroom texting my mom/co-workers/best friends/updating Twitter about how perfectly my first date is going?

If you’re going to the bathroom to update the world on your social media accounts while you’re on a date, and not actually peeing, you think people care what you’re doing way more than they actually do.

10.  Oh, look! Pretty flower vase. I should Instagram this.

NO YOU SHOULD NOT.

11.  Do you think I should invite him back to my apartment? Would that be too forward? No. I’m definitely inviting him over.

Are you going to tweet about it after?  That’s really the deciding factor, in my opinion.

12.  OMG, what if he thinks I’m the one? Wait – what if he’s the one?

He doesn’t.  He just ate, so the next thing on his to-do list is you, in order to subside that other primal urge.

13.  I wonder if he’s good in bed. Like… how good? I’d say 7 out of 10 for sure. He’s tall. And he works out. Ugh, and that smile.

I’m confused as to how physical appearance relates to sexual prowess.  Because you’re good looking that means you’re good at sex?  Have you seen Ron Jeremy?

14.  Wait, how good am I in bed? Nine, right? Yeah, definitely 9. I should find a way to talk about something sexual – so he knows I’m interested.

Yes, because talking about how good you are at sex on the first date is totally appropriate.

15.  What if he’s a bad kisser? Do you think that means he’ll be a bad parent?

Do you envision the father of your children making out with your daughter after her soccer game? I’m confused about this correlation.

16.  STOP. He just ordered the chocolate cake. HE JUST ORDERED THE CHOCOLATE CAKE. I think I found my soulmate.

This is true.  I totally agree.

17.  I know it’s really early, but I really think this relationship is going somewhere. Right? I mean, we even stayed for dessert. And because, cake.

Or, he just needed something to cleanse his palate after a salty meal.  I’ve stayed on plenty of dates in order to get dessert with no intention of hanging out with the guy again.  YOU ALWAYS STAY FOR DESSERT.

18.  Wow, definitely need to text my mom again. He’s covering the whole bill. Chivalry is sooo not dead, guys.

Are you going to text your mom and let her know he opened the door for you, too?

19.  Maybe I shouldn’t kiss him? Right? I mean, maybe he should sweat it out a little.

Agreed.

20.  He definitely just asked me if he could come over. Likiiiingggg where this is going!

Again, he wants to sleep with you.

21.  Oh, wait, did I remember to shave?

Do you go on a date and not prepare yourself for anything that could happen?  WHO ARE YOU?