Chapter 1 - Tentacles

I applied the finishing touches to my Facebook Dating profile on a Monday morning and released it into the wild. Then I went about my workday, completely forgetting about it—until lunchtime.

As I stood in the kitchen making a sandwich, I decided to peek at my profile. The sheer volume of likes made me gasp equal parts excitement and absolute fear.

I’m a relic from the ’90s, for God’s sake. The last time I dated was in 1997. How do you choose a person based solely on a photo and a few one-liners? I swiped left more times than I could count, and felt guilty every time. But somehow, it was comforting to find reasons not to swipe right. It meant I tried. I was in the game. Kinda.

I was doing “well” until my friends got involved. Suddenly, my dating life became a team sport. They forced me to swipe right on a few profiles. Unbeknownst to the lucky candidates, all messages were thoroughly vetted by a group chat of seasoned women with excellent instincts and zero patience.

The group favorite?

Piers.

Tall. Dark. Handsome. Witty.

Occupation: Stockbroker.

Obvious choice. A definite win.

We messaged back and forth until he suggested a phone call. And oh, that voice. Smooth. Deep. Barry White sexy. I melted. A little.

Piers was the first man I spoke to (really spoke to) since ending my 22-year marriage (24 year relationship). He was charming, supportive, and oddly therapeutic. We shared stories about our divorces, bonded over mutual betrayal, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like something real.

After a week of long conversations, we agreed to meet.

Now, getting ready for my first date in two decades was equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Tiny pandemic goblins had clearly broken into my closet and shrunk everything. I tried not to panic: this was just coffee. So I threw on my best athleisure and headed out.

In person, Piers was tall, dark, and handsome… but also looked like he got dressed in the dark. I think my neighbor takes the trash out with more flair. Still, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. We talked for an hour.

But the man sitting across from me wasn’t the smooth, confident voice from the phone. He was wounded. Still grieving. Still deeply in love with his ex. And, as he shared casually, he was trying to heal through a robust and very busy dating life.

As he walked me to my car, I already knew I’d never see him again. So when he leaned in for a kiss, I thought, “Why not?”

Big mistake.

What happened next is the stuff of legend. As his lips touched mine, it was like he grew tentacles. Suddenly, he was touching everything. Arms, hips, waist, thighs, hair—no inch of me was left unclaimed. It was like being on a game show called “Guess Where I’ll Touch You Next!”, and I hadn’t signed up to play.

The entire encounter lasted under a minute.

Which somehow made it more impressive… and disturbing.

He winked at me, got in his car, and just like that, Piers became Tentacles.

Was I traumatized? Just a little.

Mostly, I was impressed. In under 60 seconds, I’d been manhandled like a clearance rack bikini during a summer sale. It was part magic trick, part full-body TSA screening, and 100% not what I signed up for.

I sat in my car, stunned. Is this what dating is now?

Apparently yes.

I called my friends immediately. There was screaming. There was laughter. One of them suggested I start carrying pepper spray.

Lesson learned: just because someone sounds emotionally intelligent doesn’t mean they won’t morph into a human octopus in a parking lot.

And me? I survived Tentacles. I even dated again (eventually: see chapter 2). But now, I maintain a firm handshake policy on first meetings and maybe carry a taser. Just in case.