A trendy bar. Two friends, Lena and Jules, sit with drinks, decompressing after yet another failed dating app experience.
LENA:
You ever think we’re just living in some Black Mirror version of The Bachelor? Like, everyone’s emotionally unstable and armed with a phone camera?
JULES:
Girl. The last guy I went out with told me he wasn’t interested—nicely—and I swear I almost told him to crash into a telephone pole. Then I remembered: that’s what my ex did when I didn’t text back in five minutes.
LENA:
Five minutes? You were basically ghosting him. Did you send the “I hope you die in a tragic car fire” text?
JULES:
No, that was Ashley. Mine was more like: “Good luck being alone forever, loser. You missed your shot with a Queen.”
LENA:
Classic. Meanwhile, my last date told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship. I said, “Fine.” And he goes, “You should hang yourself.” Like what?
JULES:
Oh my God! Why is every guy either a monk or a full-blown psycho? I tried being nice once, said, “No thank you, I have a boyfriend,” and he said, “Tell him to share.”
LENA:
Better than the guy who got my number from a Walgreens Rewards card. Messaged me: “You hot. Want to chill?” Like—what?! Are we handing out phone numbers with receipts now?
JULES:
I had one say, “I’m broken… but cute.” I said, “I barely know you,” and he goes full Shakespearean tragedy: “No woman will ever love you like I would’ve.”
LENA:
Love bombers are the new plague. Give a guy a compliment and suddenly you’re married with three kids in his mind. Or worse—blocked and called a racist because your playlist didn’t have Beyoncé on it.
JULES:
Wait, is that the guy who got accused of “moral incompatibility” for liking classic rock?
LENA:
Yep. She told him she sensed a “strange aura.” Turns out, it was just a lack of Lizzo.
JULES:
I love when rejection flips into insult. Like, you say “no thanks,” and it’s suddenly, “You’re fat, ugly, and your kid has weird teeth.”
LENA:
Oh, the old “small D” defense. Women use it like it’s CTRL+Z for rejection. I said no to a girl once—politely—and she goes, “I bet you’ve got a shrimp anyway.”
JULES:
Even the lesbians are unhinged. I had a girl threaten to jump off a bridge because I wouldn’t send a pic of my boobs—with a shirt on!
LENA:
These girls out here making suicide threats over tank tops.
JULES:
I swear. It’s not even dating anymore. It’s performance art—trauma bonding and emotional terrorism.
LENA:
And yet, the dating profiles? A whole comedy routine. “I’m not messaging first. I’m allergic to hotels under 4 stars. I’m a vanilla exotic feminist who hates mayonnaise.”
JULES:
“Respect women, make six figures, be fit, love dogs, and don’t ask my weight.”
…But they’ll demand your waist circumference on the first date. 🙄
LENA:
Exactly. Or accuse you of being “emotionally unavailable” because you didn’t type their name with a capital letter.
JULES:
I had one accuse me of “love bombing” because I brought her soup when she was sick. Soup, Lena!
LENA:
You romantic terrorist.
JULES:
And then there’s the ones who won’t take “I’m gay” for an answer. “You just haven’t had the right woman yet.” No, I’ve had you. That’s why I’m gay now.
LENA:
This is why men stopped approaching women altogether. I read 45% of guys 18–25 haven’t even tried. Probably because if they do, they end up on TikTok with a voiceover like, “Look at this predator breathing near me.”
JULES:
And if they don’t approach us, we call them weak. But if they do, we say it’s harassment. It’s a lose-lose unless you’re 6’3″ and rich with trauma-responsible abs.
LENA:
And God forbid they bring flowers on a date. “Flowers? So basic. Where’s my custom diamond or Tesla?”
Meanwhile, I’m over here like, “Did you spell my name right? Cool. I’ll take that as a win.”
JULES:
Honestly, at this point, I’d be thrilled to be ghosted by someone who just left politely.
LENA:
Forget dating apps. I’m opening a monastery. Nuns get more peace than we do.
JULES:
Same. We used to dream about love stories. Now we just hope the person texting us isn’t already building a shrine to our selfies.
LENA:
At least we’ve still got each other. And vodka.
LENA (mocking tone):
“To crumbs, queens, and emotionally stable imaginary boyfriends.”
JULES:
Please, just a sniff, Queen… just a sniff.
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