Epic personal fails

The Windowless Wonder

So, I drive a Mini. It's a cute car, but there's a tiny catch—it doesn't have any window frames. I'm at the end of a date, and my date, ever the gentleman, walks me to my car. We say our goodbyes, but as I open the car door, he says something funny. I laugh and lean in to get into my car. BAM! I whack my chin right on the window. The sound of my skull ricocheting off the door and my teeth clanging together was like a one-woman orchestra. My date pretended he didn't see it and carried on walking to his car. Not sure if I'm thrilled I wasn't embarrassed any further or annoyed that he didn't check if I was okay.

I woke up the next morning with a lovely purple bruise under my chin. Hopefully, people just thought it was a shadow. Or some poorly applied makeup. Yeah, let’s go with that.

The Phantom Door

I'm at a cute, little pub, feeling on top of the world after a great date. I confidently stride towards what I think is a glass door. I'm ready to make a grand exit, hand outstretched.

Except there was no door.

I just kept walking, hand out like a blind person feeling for walls. My date was behind me, watching the whole thing unfold in slow-motion horror. Luckily, he found it hilarious! We were both laughing so hard we could barely walk. Despite my impromptu mime performance, he still wanted to see me again. We left the pub in hysterics, and at least I knew I’d given him a date to remember!

The Wine Snort

This is a story of epic betrayal. Wine betrayal.

I was out on a first date having drinks. Everything was going great until I decided to take a sip of red wine. For some inexplicable reason, the wine decided it had better plans than going down my throat and instead made a sharp detour to my windpipe. Instantly, I was caught in a fit of coughing and spluttering. Trying to recover and maintain some dignity, I quickly covered my mouth. But the universe had other ideas.

In the middle of this coughing fiasco, I let out an involuntary snort. This wasn’t just any snort. It was a full-blown, snort-out-the-wine explosion. Red wine sprayed everywhere, drenching my face and cascading down my dress. I looked like I’d just participated in some avant-garde art installation involving wine and bad decisions.

My date’s eyes widened in shock, his expression a mix of concern and barely contained laughter. I was mortified. I felt like I’d never had a drink in my life. My face was on fire, both from embarrassment and my notorious tendency for my face to turn beetroot red after a drink. I thanked the heavens for makeup, or so I thought.

Somehow, we managed to move past the incident and continue the date. I did my best to maintain my composure, making jokes about the situation and pretending like it didn’t bother me. When the date finally ended, I hurried home and it wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that the final blow landed. My makeup, which I had meticulously applied, had decided to join in on the chaos. The bottom half of my face was practically bare, thanks to the wine fiasco. My foundation had abandoned ship, leaving me with a stark, two-toned face. The top half was still perfectly made up, while the bottom half resembled a pink, blotchy mess.

My poor, poor date, having to spend the evening looking at what can only be described as a face like a Squashie sweet. I now make sure I always bring make up on a date.