I got off work at 5:00 and I ditched the red polo and khakis in the employee bathroom and changed into my favorite purple top, silky, fitted, a little beaded drama around the neckline. The kind of top that says, "Yes, I'm a mom, but I'm also someone's problem tonight
The plan was simple: dinner date with a guy I'd been talking to for a few days. His name was William. Sounded stable enough. I pictured a wine bar, maybe sushi, some flirty banter. Nothing too intense. Just a casual Thursday night serotonin boost.
I pull up to the restaurant and he's already waiting outside. Okay, bonus points for punctuality. He waves, greets me, says something polite, and then… gestures toward the door like a gentleman. So far, so good.
We walk in.
"Oh good! We already have a table," he says.
We?
Before I can ask, he's already leading me to a booth tucked into the far corner of the restaurant. Sitting there are two men and two women, about our age.
He grins. "This is Cole and Zack, my crew. And these are their girlfriends, Brittany and Jennifer."
I smile politely, silently wondering why our date just turned into a group dinner party I didn't RSVP for.
We sit. Well, I sit. Jennifer and Brittany are perched. Like birds. Shiny, tan, and two seconds from saying "Live, Laugh, Love" unironically.
Brittany launches into a story about her cat, Zorro. Specifically, how he'd been spraying her stuff and it was "pissing her off," so she almost gave him away… but someone suggested neutering him instead.
I nod and say, "I always spay and neuter my cats. Especially males, they just spray everything otherwise."
She stares at me like I suggested we all eat a bar of soap.
I try again. "If you don't spay female cats, it can actually lead to cancer."
She continues staring. Blank. Like the elevator music in her head just skipped.
Meanwhile, Jennifer gives me a dazzling smile and shows off her fresh nude-shade manicure. I smile back and say, "Wow, first time a girl's shown me her nudes at the dinner table."
The guys crack up.
Jennifer looks at me like I just farted on the table. Brittany blinks. Twice.
William, trying to be funny, says something about nudes too… but it goes over my head in the moment. (Spoiler: this will matter later.)
Anyway.
I order a bacon cheeseburger with fries and dipping sauce because I'm a human woman who eats food. Brittany and Jennifer? They order cranberry skinny martinis and nothing else.
Nothing. Not even an appetizer.
Which means I'm now the only person eating like a fat ass while they sip cocktails and blink slowly like over-glammed animatronics.
Zack turns to Cole and starts chatting about their weekend. "That was wild, man. All five of us hanging out like that... again."
He emphasizes "again" like there's a secret handshake involved.
Apparently, they all hung out last weekend. Together. As a group. The five of them. Again.
I just think it's a little weird how close they are. Like close-close.
Meanwhile, Brittany basically sets her boobs on the table. I don't know how else to describe it. Her chest is out like it's waiting for dessert, and William? William is practically hypnotized. Staring. Glancing. Staring again.
Look, she had a great chest. I'll give her that. But girl, why are we using it as a placemat?
Then comes the story. Jennifer tells Brittany about getting her hair done. Two hours. Full foil. $150 to touch up her roots.
I try to act impressed. I fail.
William chimes in with, "Blonde hair is just… so pretty," then reaches over and twirls a strand of Jennifer's hair around his finger. Like he's in a Nicholas Sparks movie that nobody asked for.
I look at my reflection in the window. Brown hair. Not rich espresso or sultry chestnut. Just… brown. Somewhere between grocery store brownie mix and overcooked toast.
Cool.
Zach keeps holding Brittany's hand, which, fine, whatever. But William? William is actively staring at her boobs like he's trying to count her pores, and Zach doesn't even blink.
I'm sitting there watching my date ogle another woman's chest while I try to eat a cheeseburger and pretend this isn't humiliating. Look, I know I don't have some magical cartoon rack, but I'm not the most flat-chested person in the world either. I have cleavage. It exists. It's real. Just... apparently not distracting enough.
Meanwhile, Jennifer is playing footsie with Cole under the table. It'd be cute if we were teenagers at prom. But I'm twenty-five. I'm divorced. I have children. A mortgage. A full-time job I'm trying to climb the ladder at. These people? They're living in rent-controlled apartments, wearing fake tans and saying YOLO. I swear, Cole said it three times over dinner like it was a sacred chant.
Honestly, I'm not even sure who my date is anymore. William? Emotionally committed to Brittany's cleavage. Zack? Too busy giving Jennifer butterfly kisses with his eyelashes. Cole? At least talking to me, which is more than I can say for anyone else at the table.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Because I need to breathe. Because I need to regroup. Because I need out. The girls follow me, because apparently it's a sisterhood of the traveling dysfunction.
I do my business. Thank God it wasn't a full evacuation situation. That would've been the cherry on this emotionally bankrupt sundae. Meanwhile, Jennifer and Brittany are at the mirror reapplying lip gloss like it's a competitive sport. The sparkly kind. The kind that looks like it was manufactured by Satan for the sole purpose of gluing your hair to your mouth mid-sentence.
We head back to the table and that's when it gets… weird.
They switch seats. Like full-on swap. Brittany slides into the seat across from Zack. Jennifer plops down next to Cole. And everyone acts like this isn't a romantic Sudoku puzzle.
I pause. I look around. Is this a prank? Am I being punk'd? Ashton Kutcher, where you at?
But no. William doesn't say a word. Zack doesn't look up. Cole just grins at me like I'm supposed to be in on the joke.
"You're cool, Lola. We've been saying we need a new energy."
Everyone orders another round of drinks. I just get a water refill. Apparently, I'm the only one not drinking the Kool-Aid or the vodka.
Jennifer and Brittany start giving each other's boyfriends flirty smiles. I try not to stare. I sip my water. I nod politely. I do not engage.
More small talk. More inside jokes I don't get. At this point, I could be a waitress shadowing the table. That's how out of the loop I am.
Eventually, the night ends. Blessedly. William walks me to my car like he's chivalrous and not emotionally cheating on Zack's girlfriend all night. He leans in. Kisses me on the cheek. Tells me he had a great time.
I sit in my car for a full minute before even putting the keys in the ignition.
And then it hits me.
Oh my God.
They're all in a relationship.
Not like, emotionally close or quirky friend group vibes. No. This is some polyamorous-pick-me pentagon of chaos. A full-on swap-meet of feelings and fingering. The seat switch. The flirty comments. The "your boobs look amazing in that top" exchanges. The hand-holding while eye-banging other people.
I wasn't on a date.
I was on an audition.
And I failed.
Thank God.