Picture this: it’s a Sunday evening, and I’ve officially hit the wall with my «choose your own adventure» style of dating. Each new encounter feels like a new episode of a terrible reality show, and I’m ready to pull the plug. So there I am, happily wrapped in my favorite blanket burrito, a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and the remote in one hand, when my phone buzzes. It’s a reminder about my eHarmony date in an hour. My first instinct? Skip it. I mean, come on, I can already hear the sound of my own cringe at awkward small talk mixed with the distinctive clinking of silverware against plates at yet another overpriced restaurant in the East Village. Count me out. But just as I’m about to type “sorry, I’ve developed a sudden case of couch potato-itis,” I remember my mom’s voice echoing in my head, “You can’t find love if you don’t get off the couch!” Fine, mom. So I reluctantly peel myself off the sofa, throw on something that resembles clothes, and take the subway to the meeting spot—because why not? The thrill of public transportation might just distract me from the impending doom of this date. As soon as I arrive, I see my date—a fellow named Tim—who is not just as charming as his profile suggested but also sporting the most impressive collection of dad jokes I’ve ever encountered. I mean, the guy had the