Pickles.

-->Not every person you go on a date with will be your soulmate. This, I accept. Yet, with my childlike enthusiasm intact, I remain hopeful. But then, there are those dates that make you rethink your orientation. Yep. I said it.

Let me take you on a journey. I promise you a variety of emotions: disappointment, annoyance and finally, the feeling of "fate, you're an asshole."

Let's start with the first feeling, shall we? Disappointment. You may remember this feeling from opening a Kinder Surprise only to find 6-piece puzzle, rather than a cool mechanical toy or collectible figurine. You with me? Okay, so disappointment.

It was the evening of my second date with a particular boy. Let’s call him, Pickle Boy. The first date was average, but hey, which first date isn't awkward? So, I decided to ignore my gut feeling and agree to a second date.

And so, there we are at a comedy club, waiting for the show to start.

We ease into an awkward conversation about pickles.

"My mom doesn't like pickles," he says.

I nod, feigning interest.

"Huh," I say, doing my best to come up with segue to this statement.

" She also doesn't eat coconuts," he continues.

Suddenly, a waitress interrupted his stream of consciousnss.

"What would you like to drink?" she asks us innocently.

"Nothing," he responds matter-of-factly.

I order an iced tea. Sipping this would give me the necessary distraction I so longed for, while waiting for the comics to take the stage. Part of me wanted to simply avoid conversation, because his breath has seen better days.

We both watched the show in silence.

At the end of the show, he casually asks whether I would like to go for a drink elsewhere. This puzzled me, because he plainly rejected the bill for the whopping $3 iced tea I had ordered. I wondered what his game plan was.

So, I came up with the best excuse I could.

" I...have to phone a friend," I stuttered.

He believed me. I blocked his attempt at a kiss with a ninja-like disappearing act into my car.

The next day, he asked me out again.

I politely explained that while he seems like a nice guy, I didn't feel any romantic connection with him. He didn't believe me and suggested we do something else. I struggled to explain that the activity was not the problem.

Again, he responded with a bold "You don't even know how good a kisser I am!"

My mind wandered back to warmth of his neglected breath. I didn't want to know.

This constant back-and-forth and his inability to accept my rejection led to, you guessed it, annoyance.

This annoyance was further strengthened later that evening with a trip to Canadian Tire. Let's all agree that while they may have sick pricing on dairy and camping supplies, their customer service skills are about as present as snail's knitting skills. They're just not there. They welcome customer questions with the same attitude most welcome rashes.

And so, when I was told that my bicycle has not arrived as promised and they would not be able to honour my rain cheque even if the bicycle does possibly appear in some distant future, I was annoyed.

I requested to speak to the manager, but the staff member protected him with the determination of Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard. He would let no one near him. Part of me admired that.

I wandered off into the store, in hopes of finding another bike. As I am still fuming, unable to comprehend Canadian Tire's inability to help, fate decided to throw a curveball my way.

There stood Pickle Boy.

I once again explained that despite my three texts rejecting him, which might have led him to believe I was just playing hard to get, I was not interested in dating him.

I left him among the bicycles and wished him luck in search of something nice to ride.