*Once upon a time in the bustling heart of Brooklyn, a savvy woman named Claire swiped right on a charming profile that boasted a love for gourmet cooking and “thrilling conversations.” His name was Derek, and his profile picture featured him looking dapper with a mustache that practically had its own Instagram account.* *Eager for a date, Claire felt a flutter of excitement. They met at a hipster café adorned with succulents, where they exchanged pleasantries over oat milk lattes. A spark ignited, fueled by flirty banter and a shared love for obscure indie bands. But then, as Derek casually leaned in, his voice dropped an octave.* *“You know,” he said, with eyes glimmering like a cat staring at a can of tuna, “I once accidentally turned a whole dinner party into a ‘how to boil water’ class because I forgot what a knife was for.”* *Claire chuckled, envisioning a kitchen apocalypse. But Derek wasn’t done. “But my last girlfriend had to ghost me after I introduced her to my pet tarantula, Mr. Fluffykins. He didn’t like her very much.”* *“Tarantula?” she asked, half-laughing, half-wondering if he was joking or just one bad breakup away from being a spider person.* *“We didn’t really get along, but it’s not my fault. It’s really hard to keep a healthy