So, picture this: I matched with a guy on Hinge named Carl. He had a killer smile and listed “amateur magician” as one of his hobbies. Honestly, I thought it’d be a low-pressure evening of bad jokes and awkward silences, and maybe a few magical tricks to break the ice. Spoiler alert: it was both a rom-com and a horror movie in the making. We met at this quaint little cafe in the West Village, the kind of place where the barista probably writes poetry on the side. Carl arrives wearing a leather jacket that screams “I’ve seen some things,” which is both intriguing and slightly alarming. He walks in like he’s auditioning for a role in “The Next Big Thing” and immediately pulls out a deck of cards. "Want to see a trick?" he says, eyes gleaming with that mix of enthusiasm and uncertainty—a classic rom-com moment if I’ve ever seen one. As I nod, thinking this will be cute, he promptly drops the entire deck on the floor. Cue my internal eye-roll. But he’s not phased. He dives down to scoop them up, and as he does, he bumps his head on the bottom of the table, sending a cup of herbal tea cascading into my lap. “Oops!” he chuckles. I’m drenched in warm chamomile, and I’m starting to wonder if “tea” was short for “a total disaster.” After a bit of laughter