u/yzthaskyblue-_-

Who remembers being a young teenager, firing up the dial-up internet to kick some ass on Age of Empires II, then screaming at the entire family to STAY OFF THE PHONE because someone picking up the landline meant your multiplayer game was about to become a casualty?

All while jamming to Eminem on the Walkman after somehow convincing Mom to buy The Marshall Mathers LP at Walmart.

You’d think she would’ve learned after buying me The Slim Shady LP, but maybe she secretly understood that we were witnessing an important battle for freedom of speech in music and decided to low-key support the movement. 😆

Five years later, that same woman kicked me out of the house and gave me an ultimatum:

Join the military or stay out.

So I joined the military.
Turned out alright. 💪🏼🤣🤬

God, the late ’90s/early 2000s were a different fucking time.

I’ve decided to start dating again.

I’m a retired Army combat veteran. I’ve been to Iraq and Afghanistan, so I’ve dealt with some stressful situations. Apparently none of that prepared me for Facebook Dating.

I figured I’d give it another shot. How bad could it be? That’s usually when things go wrong.

I’m swiping through profiles when I come across Kara Kay Kincaid. Copperas Cove, Texas. Her profile picture looks normal enough.

Then I read the bio.

I’m not the girl next door. I’m the bitch your mother warned you about.

Well. That’s one way to introduce yourself. I keep reading.

She’s looking for her “redneck Romeo.”
She’s 420 friendly.
She’s been single for three years.
She doesn’t want another woman’s man.
She doesn’t want a threesome.
She wants a tall, manly, dominant man because she doesn’t listen and talks back.

And apparently she’s got enough faults to fill out her own warning label.

Then I notice her initials.

Three K’s…

I stared at the screen. Then I thought:

Okay… so we’re really committing to the redneck thing.

I decided not to overthink it. I’ve learned that sometimes the best course of action is to gather more information before making a decision. So I read the rest of the bio.

She says if your name starts with J, don’t bother.

I look at my name. No J. Check.

She wants a manly man. I’m a man. Check.

She wants somebody dominant. I spent years as an Army Infantryman. Probably check.

She’s looking for a redneck Romeo. I live in Texas. It’s August. My neck is so red from the Texas sun that children point at me and ask their parents why the stop sign is walking. Check.

At this point, I’m thinking:

This might be the first time in my life I’ve actually met every qualification on a dating profile.

I hit Like.
Five minutes later…
It’s a match.

Her first message is: “Hey.”

That’s it. No emoji. No “hey handsome.” Just: Hey.

I’ve been shot at in Iraq with more enthusiasm.

I reply. We start talking. And here’s the problem. She’s actually funny. Not normal funny. More like the kind of funny where you find yourself laughing while simultaneously wondering if you should tell somebody where you’re going.

She asks what I’m looking for.

I tell her: “Something real. Somebody I can laugh with. Somebody loyal.”

She says: “Good. I’m loyal.”

Then: “I’m also crazy.”

I laugh. She doesn’t.

A minute later: “I’m serious.”

I type: “Well, I appreciate the warning.”

She responds: “You should.”

At this point, a reasonable person would probably end the conversation. Unfortunately, I’m apparently not a reasonable person. I’m a combat vet who has voluntarily downloaded Facebook Dating. Clearly my judgment is already compromised. So I ask her out.

The Date

We meet at a local restaurant. I get there first. A few minutes later, Kara walks in. She sees me. Walks over. Looks me up and down.

Then says: “You’re shorter than I expected.”

We haven’t even said hello.

I say: “Good to meet you too.”

She laughs.

Okay. We’re starting strong. We sit down. She orders a drink. I order water.

She looks at me. “You don’t drink?”

“Sometimes.”

She nods. “That’s probably good.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d passed a test or failed one.

Then she asks: “What’s your sign?”

I tell her “Pisces”. She goes quiet.

I ask: “What?”

She says: “Nothing.”

“You just made a face.”

“Your sign explains a lot.”

I hadn’t even done anything yet. Apparently I was already being judged by the stars.

Dinner actually goes pretty well. She’s confident. She’s direct. She’s funny. And, unfortunately, I’m starting to like her.

Then she asks: “Are you dominant?”

I almost choke on my water.

I say: “I guess it depends on the situation.”

She looks at me. “That’s not an answer.”

I ask: “What would be the correct answer?”

She smiles. “You’d know.”

I immediately realize I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been to Iraq. I’ve been to Afghanistan. I’ve spent time in situations where people were shooting at me. And somehow this woman asking me whether I’m dominant is making me more nervous than both.

We’re finishing dinner when she says: “My friends are going to want to meet you.”

I look up. “Your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “They like to meet the guys I date.”

I ask: “How many guys have they met?”

She thinks about it. “All of them.”

Well. That’s reassuring.

Then she says: “They’ll want to see if you’re actually dominant.”

I put my fork down. This has officially become an evaluation. I’m beginning to suspect there’s an interview panel.

We finish dinner. She walks me outside.

Before we leave, she says: “You know what I like about you?”

I say: “What?”

She says: “You’re not scared of me.”

I almost tell her that’s because I’ve been deployed to a couple combat zones.

Instead I say: “I have my moments.”

She laughs. Then she says: “I’ll text you.”

I get in my truck. Drive about two blocks. My phone buzzes. It’s Kara.

“My friends want to meet you Saturday.”

I stare at the message. I’ve survived deployments. I’ve dealt with military bureaucracy. I’ve eaten MREs. And somehow meeting a woman’s friends on Saturday is what has me questioning my life choices.

I text back: “Sure.”

She replies: “Good. They’re going to love you.”

I put my phone down.

Nobody has ever said that sentence immediately before something good happened.

TO BE CONTINUED…

*all names and places have been changed to protect the actual person(s) identity. This is completely satire that is based off real dating profile bios that I find on Facebook Dating.

Sarah never hit me back, on to the next 😩😭

My name doesn’t start with a “J” so I should be good, right? 😅🤫🔥🚒