Jake was determined. Tonight would be the perfect first date. He'd spent the entire week preparing—reading articles titled "How to Charm Anyone Without Looking Desperate" and "10 Ways to Make Her Laugh (Without Crying Yourself)." He'd even shaved twice.
The plan was foolproof. Pick up Emily at 7 PM, impress her with his knowledge of Italian food, and maybe—just maybe—land a goodnight kiss.
The problem was Jake himself.
---
When Jake arrived at Emily's place, things went wrong immediately.
She opened the door, looking gorgeous in a red dress, and Jake, wanting to play it cool, leaned against the doorframe. Unfortunately, his hand landed on the doorbell, which promptly let out a BZZZZZZZZZZ so loud it could wake the dead.
Emily jumped. "Uh, are you okay?"
Jake, frozen in place, kept holding the button down. "Totally. Just testing its durability."
He finally let go, and the silence was deafening.
---
The car ride wasn't much better.
"So," Jake said, trying to make conversation, "do you like... air?"
Emily turned to him, confused. "Air?"
"Yeah, you know. Breathing it. Pretty important, right?"
Emily gave a polite smile. "I guess?"
Jake nodded like a philosopher who'd just solved world hunger. "Cool, cool. Just checking."
The silence that followed could have rivaled a library at 3 AM.
---
At the restaurant, things only got worse.
"Welcome to Trattoria Bella," the hostess said with a smile. "Do you have a reservation?"
Jake puffed out his chest. "Of course! It's under 'Jake.'"
The hostess frowned. "Hmm, I don't see a reservation for Jake."
Jake's face fell. "What? That's impossible. I definitely—oh, wait." He pulled out his phone and checked his confirmation email.
"Uh... so funny story," he said, scratching his head. "I booked the wrong restaurant."
Emily laughed awkwardly. "Oh, well, that's fine. We can wait, right?"
"No need!" Jake declared. "I'm great at improvising."
Fifteen minutes later, they were seated... at a table for two in the storage closet.
---
Determined to salvage the night, Jake decided to show off his "culinary expertise."
"You know," he said, swirling his water like it was wine, "real Italian food is all about simplicity. Just fresh ingredients and love."
Emily nodded politely.
Jake, feeling confident, decided to quiz the waiter. "Excuse me! Can you tell us what region this pasta is from?"
The waiter blinked. "Uh, the frozen section of Costco?"
Jake laughed a little too hard. "Classic. Very authentic!"
Emily, to her credit, stifled a giggle.
---
Then the breadsticks arrived, and chaos followed.
Jake, wanting to be a gentleman, reached for a breadstick to hand to Emily. But in his eagerness, he accidentally launched it across the room.
The breadstick sailed through the air in slow motion before hitting a bald man at the next table.
The man turned around, glaring at Jake. "Excuse me?"
Jake froze. "Uh, free breadstick?"
The man stood up. He was roughly the size of a fridge.
Emily whispered, "Jake, say you're sorry!"
But Jake's brain had already short-circuited. "Compliments of the chef?"
The man took a step forward, and Jake immediately grabbed another breadstick as a weapon. "Stay back! I know carbs!"
Thankfully, the waiter intervened, offering the angry man free dessert. Jake, meanwhile, sank into his chair, holding the remaining breadstick like a sword.
---
The final straw came with the spaghetti.
Emily had ordered a simple marinara pasta. Jake, determined to impress her, ordered the "Spaghetti Volcano," a dish famous for being served with literal fire.
When it arrived, Jake clapped his hands in excitement. "This is going to be awesome!"
The waiter lit the dish, and flames shot up dramatically—right into Jake's napkin, which he'd tucked into his shirt.
"FIRE!" Jake screamed, jumping out of his chair and flailing like a man possessed.
Emily grabbed her water glass and threw it on him. Unfortunately, it wasn't water—it was iced tea.
Jake stood there, drenched and sticky, as the entire restaurant stared. The waiter handed him a second napkin, looking unimpressed.
"Your spaghetti, sir," he said dryly.
Jake sat down, defeated. "Thanks."
Emily burst out laughing.
---
By the time the check arrived, Jake was ready to crawl under the table and live there forever.
"Well," he said, forcing a smile, "this has been... memorable."
Emily wiped tears from her eyes. "Jake, I haven't laughed this much in years."
"Really?" Jake asked, perking up. "So you're not, like, horrified?"
Emily grinned. "Are you kidding? This was the funniest date I've ever been on. Besides, now I have a great story to tell my friends."
Jake laughed, finally relaxing. "Well, in that case, do you want to grab dessert somewhere else? Maybe somewhere with fewer breadstick casualties?"
Emily smiled. "Only if you promise not to order anything on fire."
And so, the disaster date became an unexpected win. Jake learned that sometimes, setting yourself on fire, assaulting strangers with breadsticks, and looking like a spaghetti monster is all it takes to sweep someone off their feet—or at least leave them laughing too hard to escape.