On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.

I know that crying on a date is the fastest way to send someone running in the opposite direction. If it’s the first date, then you’ve pretty much guaranteed you’ll never see that person again. So when I did cry on my date with Matthew, I knew in that moment I’d probably never see him again, but I also knew I didn’t care.

There’s a bar in my neighborhood that I go to from time to time, and for a brief while Matthew was a bartender there. It one of those Cheers types of places where everyone knows each other from living in the neighboring buildings, and when someone new rolled in on a Friday or Saturday night, we all stiffened and wondered how we’d been found out.

As it tends to be my MO when it comes to flirting with men, it all comes down to music. So when Matthew and I both realized we shared a love for Xiu Xiu, we decided we’d actually step outside the bar and go to a show. We were also celebrating the fact that he had gotten a real job (in finance!) and was leaving the bar behind. I could kiss those free rounds of drinks goodbye, but having found someone who actually liked the same music as me was a fair enough trade off.

So off to the show we went…

Where we got good and drunk and made out and enjoyed ourselves quite a bit. I had my phone on vibrate and despite the speaker system in the venue, I could feel that someone was blowing up my phone. When I looked down and saw that I had several missed calls from my parents, I rolled my eyes and turned it off.

After the show we went to a couple other bars then made our way back to my apartment. I turned my phone back on to see what was going on with my parents while I let my roommate, Lyndsay, and her boyfriend entertain Matthew for a few minutes. My parents, like myself, are prone to calling too many times even if there isn’t a life and death matter, so I wasn’t too concerned.

The news wasn’t good: earlier that evening our family dog, Dreyfuss, had passed away. He was 14 years old and had been my baby; losing him was more devastating than losing the few human beings I have lost in my life. Whether or not you agree or understand the severe pain that comes with losing a pet isn’t what this is about, what it’s about is how I ran to the living room and collapsed on the floor in front of my date. It wasn’t even tears at first, but hyperventilating and coughing and chocking on the sobs that were trying to escape. Once the tears started, so did the dry-heaving and, because I do have a habit of getting myself into states of loss of control of my body when I’m that upset, I managed to get myself up and my head in the garbage right before I threw up.

It was snotty, drooly, messy and between the tears and throwing up, my roommate and her boyfriend — both had known me since college — tried to do everything within in their power to console me, which of course under the circumstances was going to be impossible. I wasn’t even clear-headed enough to be able to apologize to Matthew for my state; no, that would have to come in the form of a text later. He didn’t stick around long after my head went into the trashcan, and by the time I had calmed down enough for Lyndsay to get me into bed, Matthew was long gone.

When I got in touch with him a few days later about it, he was very understanding. I think I was the one who had the issue with it. There are some things you’d like a fella to see later on; you know, on the second or third date, not the first. Yeah, so a second date never materialized, but I take the blame for this one. It’s also probably only one of the two or three times in my life that I’m taking accountability for anything, so let’s take a moment and acknowledge that.