After nearly nineteen years, I still hate admitting that I can count the number of dates I've been on using one hand. You would think being surrounded by 30,000 people close to my age would lead to at least a few love connections, but that sadly isn't the case. This isn't to say I haven't tried putting myself out there, it's just that every attempt at starting a relationship has had a worse ending than 42 Meters Down.

Murphy's Law says anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

If only I knew how much that applied to dating.

My first piece of evidence starts at a party. My friends and I were standing in a corner, sipping the lukewarm beer given out to everyone, when it happened. Eye contact with a member of the opposite sex.

Slowly, I made my way over. The closer I got, the more I realized the guy sorta looked like Jude Law with lighter hair. I was trying really hard to keep the flirty eyes going, but the rainbow disco ball thing in the corner kept spinning the lights right into my eyes so I probably looked less flirty and more mid-seizure.

I eventually made it within talking distance, and we introduced ourselves. He seemed pretty into it. We talked for about five minutes before he looked down at his beer, looked back, and asked,

"What was your name again?"

I caught a hint of a slur when he asked. It was then that I noticed that the swaying thing he was doing wasn't dancing as much as weaving. His eyes weren't shiny from the disco lights, they were glassy and unfocused. The pale sheen of his skin wasn't bad lighting. I started backing up a second too late. Before I could duck out of the way, vomit covered almost every inch of me from the neck down.

My second piece of evidence starts at a nicer venue but it ends with the same amount of failure. It was the night of our sorority formal and I'd decided to ask a guy from class that was always pretty nice to me if he wanted to go. He said yeah and sounded pretty excited.

Off to a good start, right?

We get to this really fancy place and they have a giant wooden dance floor all set up and ready to go. My sisters and I drag our dates toward it and we start jamming with the other two hundred people there. What no one foresaw was the number of drinks that would be spilled on the dance floor.

Slippery floor, meet an uncoordinated girl in high heels.

I swear it was like a scene out of a movie. In slow motion, my feet went up while the rest of me went down. Now I'm on the ground, probably flashing the crowd slowly gathering around me cause my dress was a little too short, and my butt is in pain.

You know what? It's alright because my date is going to be the hero and swoop in and save me from this flailing embarrassment any second now.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

He legit looked me in the eye, turned around and took off. I didn't see him for the rest of the night.

My last piece of evidence probably takes the trophy for most cringe-worthy. A guy that I worked with over the summer snapped me out of the blue, asking if I wanted to grab dinner sometime.

I wish I could say that I at least hesitated and played it cool, but it had been so long that I took what I could get and didn't think twice.

We met at a little restaurant down the street from my house and everything seemed to start off pretty smoothly. The fact that it was going smoothly should've been the first red flag because none of my dates have ever gone the way I think they will.

After talking about how much he hated school for ten minutes, he glanced at my plate before asking if I wanted to get out of there.

Second red flag.

Wanting nothing more than to ditch him, go home and watch a cheesy rom-com, I said yes. He threw some cash down and we walked out, him trailing a little too close for comfort.

I get in my car thinking I'm going to head straight home when the passenger door opens. He gets in and the next thing I know his tongue is all up in my face. It was like he wasn't even aiming for my mouth. After point five seconds of him trying to make out like a slobbering puppy, I push him off, send him on his way, and wipe my face clean.

Your honor, I rest my case.