Can’t Rain on My Parade

This story is from Jen, a 24-year-old journalist living in NYC, as told to Raz:

I met Stan in a sports bar on a Friday night. He approached me, and I was instantly turned on by his lack of sloppy drunkenness and his ability to have a conversation despite the fact that there was a game on. We talked for about an hour, and we were getting along fabulously. As I was about to leave, he asked for my number.

“Actually,” he said, “is it too forward if I ask what you’re doing tomorrow? Maybe I could take you out?” His excitement was so cute that I couldn’t resist.

We confirmed via text the next morning. It was kind of a groggy and rainy Saturday, so I spent the day pampering myself to look awesome for our date. That evening, I was picking out my outfit when my phone buzzed with a text from Stan.

“It’s raining outside,” it said. “Let’s just skip it.”

That’s it. That’s the whole story. I ended up getting nachos delivered (gotta love NYC), and spending some quality time with me. It was a good night. Stan and I never went out, and I never heard from him again. I’m still a little confused.