Cue the SVU theme music—we’re back for another gripping episode of Special Affairs Unit.

The prelude to this story was promising. We met here on Reddit - he commented on my previous rant about compatibility! (Oh, the irony 😝) We hit it off—fun, flirty banter, the kind of chat that makes you think, “Okay, maybe this time, I’ve hit the jackpot.”

But the man who showed up? Felt like a complete imposter. Gone was the charming guy from our online chats, replaced by someone with all the charisma of a PowerPoint presentation. It was like I’d shown up for a quarterly performance review from a bad middle manager. It was like he sent his much duller, less stylish twin. And speaking of style... my God. The man showed up badly dressed. Now, I’m not expecting Tom Ford, but we were at a sexy lounge, not Wendy’s.

When I arrived, he didn’t even bother to stand up. No hug, no warmth. I sat down, and he shook my hand. A handshake! I was taken aback and honestly, a bit offended. That was a first.

And listen, I know I looked good. Everyone else noticed—but him? Not a word. Silence. I mean, at least pretend to have basic social skills. How is this man 52, working in the professional world?

As if the date itself wasn’t enough of a rollercoaster, the real fun began afterward. The texts and calls came pouring in, full of compliments. Where was this energy when I was sitting right in front of him? I told him, politely, that there wasn’t any chemistry in person. And here’s the kicker: he hits me with, “If you say no and I blew this, I’m done with dating. I’ll never meet anyone like you again.”

Excuse me, what? Is that... a threat? It felt less like a compliment and more like emotional blackmail.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the unraveling began. Everyone has their nervous moments—I get it. I can forgive a little out-of-character behavior. I even suggested he take a breather, sleep on it, and think things through before texting again. I was practically setting him up for success. Yes, I know—I’m a saint.

But this guy? His communication skills were the real tragedy. Frantic walls of text, desperate pleas—it was like watching a ship sink in real-time. How do you navigate adulthood if you can’t handle a simple conversation without falling apart? And just when I thought we’d hit rock bottom, he drops the classic, “I guess nice guys really do finish last.”

W.T.F. Nice guys don’t finish last. Guys with no game do.

Honestly, I feel bad for his wife and daughter. They’re going to need a good therapist.

Good luck out there, ladies — it’s jungle, and game is so rare these days it deserves a spot on the endangered species list.

Stay tuned for the next episode, where the dating disasters continue, and I debate whether to start handing out pamphlets on basic social skills... or at least, a crash course in flirting.