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The worst date I ever had was with my then boyfriend. We were supposed to be meeting his family at a party in a dance hall. I was all dressed up in my new leather black boots and ready to go to the party, thinking I would meet him there. Suddenly, he came into our apartment. He said that he rode up there, and he did not want to go to the party because he was not dressed as nice as he wanted to look. So, he asked me if I would not mind riding around in his car for a while. After we rode around for about twenty minutes, we stopped, and he bought me a bottle of wine and himself a six pack. “Gee,” I thought, “I would have rather been at the party dancing.” We came back into the house, and he played a computer game. “Wow,” I thought, “what a night.” Two weeks later, he stated that he just did not want to go out with me. Needless to say, we broke up soon after. What big, fat loser. -- Bridget, 23