So, I matched with this guy on Tinder who described himself as “the human version of a double shot espresso.” I thought, great, a caffeinated hipster—I could use the jolt! We agreed to meet at a quaint little coffee shop that smelled like a combination of artisanal roasts and poorly concealed desperation. As we sat down, he got all excited and ordered something called a “maple-infused, lavender oat milk latte.” I raised my eyebrow to express my disbelief, and he said, “It’s like a hug in a cup!” At this point, I could hear my skepticism brewing louder than his fancy drink, but I played along because, hey, who doesn’t love a good trainwreck story? While he rambled about his obsession with hiking and meditation retreats, I noticed a barista at the counter whose name tag read "Sarah." A few minutes later, my date pulls out his phone and—no joke—swipes right on a girl named Sarah. He turns to me and says, “This must be fate. I’m always drawn to Sarahs!” And just as I was about to lose my cool, a delivery guy bursts into the café, slips on the floor, and sends a whole tray of pastries flying like it was some sort of baked goods battle royale. Guess what? He lands right at our table, and a croissant bounces off my date's head. I looked at him, and he looked at me with bits of flaky