Bad dates are a fact of life. Clichéd, mundane and, typically, predictable, bad dates sneak up on everyone with the stealth of a flu virus and the benevolence of a spring breeze. That combination, the sneakiness and seeming innocence of the whole affair makes bad dates even more frustrating. Take my recent date with “Carrie” for example.

I met Carrie on a bike ride. We both seemed able to put up with each other, so we exchanged digits and arranged to meet up for dinner the next week. Everything on paper, so to speak, was set up for a full success. However, the old saying, “The best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry,” soon proved all too true.

At dinner, Carrie and I agreed on ordering the grilled calamari as an appetizer. As the waiter served the squid Carrie got a rather nervous look on her face at the notion of eating the yummy little inhabitant of the deep blue sea.

“Surely, this girl knew what calamari was when we ordered and couldn’t possibly have merely gone along with what I suggested,” I thought to myself.

But, of course, that's exactly what she had done. After some prying on my part, Carrie confessed to having never tried squid before and I laughed the entire matter off. All the while my brain was silently noting down how foolish and, indeed, insecure it seemed that she didn’t just ask about the appetizer before we ordered it. Before we were able to finish our first glasses of wine, she had already broken a first date rule: Be Yourself.

After dinner, Carrie wanted to grab a few drinks at a bar by her place and I senselessly said “Sure, I'd love to.” But even after the dinner debacle, it didn’t take long for Carrie to break another cardinal first date rule: Don’t share too much, too soon a.k.a. the T.M.I. factor.

Launching into a number of rants, Carrie admitted to “totally, like, 100 percent having a huge crush on [her] boss!” as well as “totally, like, really, truly resenting [her] father for being an unemployed alcoholic and pothead.” So there I was on the other side of the table, doing my best not to laugh out loud at the absurdity of having a relative stranger ramble on about jonesing for her boss and hating her dad.

At the end of the night, “Yeah, boy! Am I really tired,” I gave Carrie a hug after which she said I should give her a call sometime. I couldn't tell if she was being serious and I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't planning on calling her anytime soon. Mercifully, I've not heard back from her.

But what can be done? Short of locking oneself in your apartment and ignoring all attempts at socializing with the opposite sex whatsoever, there's nothing to do except soldier through the bad dates so you might eventually reach some good dates.