This thread is gold.
My lowest point was the day I had to fake my cat’s death to get away.
On my freshman year I met a hot chick on campus, fast forward a few weeks and we finally went out. We had planned to go grab a meal somewhere, but since it was raining we ended up going to a bar that was close by and settled for that. During all the previous weeks I hadn’t actually talked to her per se, we’d only text or talk real quick between classes, so that would be my first time actually getting to know her - usually, when the chick is hot enough I don’t really care about her personality as long as it isn’t completely disgusting or has some other incredible nagging trait that can’t be ignored/overlooked.
Back then I didn’t have my driver’s license yet (here in Brazil legal driving age is 18) so I walked to her place to pick her up. She came out wearing a super tight skirt and a top cleaved enough I could crawl inside it without no problems. “Great”, I thought, she was dressed for some serious pounding, can’t do wrong.
We got at the bar and sat down, ordered a few drinks (I don’t drink but I sometimes take one for the team when I have to) and starting talking. It was a nightmare. She was a complete fucking wreck to the point HER CLEAVAGE WEREN’T INTERESTING ANYMORE after only twenty minutes of conversation.
Plus, she had a really bad breath - which I tried to eliminate via mint drops to no success - to the point it’d burn my eyes if she talked too close to me. I kept trying to tell myself her ass was worth it, and that it would be a great night of sex and soon enough I’d be smanging her, but I came to the point I couldn’t push myself through it anymore.
I had to come up with an escape plan.
I wasn’t listening anymore, my mind was racing. I had to come up with a way to get away from her, so I said I had to take a piss and went to the bathroom to try to think of something convincing. On the way I stumbled across my next door neighbor that was a good friend of mine this girl, and I had the greatest idea ever. I told him what was going on and asked him to wait a few minutes then come over asking me what happened at my place, because he had seen my mom crying outside. I’d take it from there and so I did.
He came over, and I couldn’t have put a better act. I excused myself, pretended to call my mom, and kept repeting “WHAT? HE’S DEAD? HOW?” loud enough so she could hear it. I came back with a sad face on, told her my cat had been run over and died. I escaped.
I left for my football camp and was away for the whole following week. When I came back home, me and my friends posted on Facebook a picture in my living room, with my cat lying around on the floor.
A few minutes after the girl sends me a message “Tell me this isn’t your cat.”
We never spoke again.