Ordinarily, I'm not an angry person. However, the asshole that decided an entire day should be dedicated to making fools out of everyone can go choke on their own fake vomit.
The morning of April 1st, my phone flashed with a blaring reminder:
Trust no one and nothing.
It was such a tedious thing to have to keep in the back of my mind as I went about my day, making sure to avoid social media. There was a silver lining, though. I had plans to meet my friend, Cristin, for dinner.
The hours crawled by as I weathered the spam bombarding my inbox from coworkers whose comedy careers were the stuff of science fiction.
God. If I opened one more waste of text from Gary, he was in danger of me strangling him. I was surprised my eyes hadn't rolled right out of my head. Seriously, fuck April Fool's Day.
Silently, I counted down the minutes until I could leave for the restaurant. It was a new seafood place Cristin had suggested. Give me ALL of the bang-bang shrimp and hold the jokes.
At 5:01 pm, I quickly left the parking lot and headed to the restaurant. It wasn't busy—yet.
I breathed a sigh of relief and headed inside. Summoning my good manners, I smiled at the hostess and said, "Hi, I'm here with a reservation. It should be under Cristin?"
The girl swiped through a list on her tablet and nodded. "Yes, a table for two. You're the first one here, would you like to wait or be seated?"
"I'd like to be seated, please."
"Follow me."
My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as I followed the hostess to a table. The dining room had an atmosphere of quiet class: white tablecloths, candles, servers dressed in black, and muted colors on the wall. The aroma of buttery, sauteed seafood assaulted my senses as I took my seat.
"Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess said, then returned to her station.
I wasn't surprised that I beat Cristin, but after twenty minutes, I started to worry. Suddenly, the hostess returned, followed by a tall, mystery man. He was blonde, with grey eyes, clearly fit, and clean-shaven. He wore a burnt-orange collared shirt and dark jeans. He smiled as he sat down, oblivious to my confusion, and extended his hand.
"Hi Cristin, it's nice to meet you."
FUCK! GODFUCKINGDAMNIT CRISTIN! TODAY?! REALLY?!!! FUCK!
"Um hi...I think there's been a mistake...I'm not Cristin, I'm Michelle."
It was now his turn to look confused. "But...the reservation was under Cristin...and you look just how Cristin described herself in her dating profile?"
Un-fucking-believable. She really planned all this out. Could this get any worse?
"I'm really sorry about this. Cristin is my best friend, and apparently, she thought I needed help getting a date. She's played a little April Fool's matchmaking on both of us. I should just go." I pushed back my chair.
"Wait, you don't have to go. I mean, I'm hungry, and I'm assuming you're hungry, so why not just have dinner with me? I'm Brian."
"Alright, you've got a point. Nice to meet you, Brian." I extended my hand and shook his. Well, he
was
easy on the eyes. What harm could there be? After all, it was just dinner. Our server appeared and I ordered a glass of wine; Brian ordered a lager. Guess we were really doing this.
"So, what else was on that dating profile?" I asked, my annoyance for Cristin building.
"Just that you're 25, you work in marketing, and you grew up around here. There were some messages..." he grinned.
Cristin, I'm actually going to kill you.
"Yes, I can imagine what those messages were like. Cristin has quite the imagination." I took a sip of wine. "Tell me about you, Brian."
"I'm 27, I'm a pilot with Delta, and I'm originally from California."
"A pilot? That's impressive."
"It does have its...benefits."
Ugh!