The Benihana Bumble Blunder

Last year I met a guy on Bumble, and we ended up dating for a few weeks. If you have been out of the dating game for a while, let me explain to you what Bumble is. Bumble is an online dating app, kind of like Tinder. Each user downloads the app to their cell phone and creates a profile. Your profile is then presented in a baseball card like fashion to a member of the opposite sex on their cell phone screen (or same sex, whatever you’re into that’s cool).

If you see someone’s profile that tickles your fancy, you swipe right. If you don’t like what you see, you swipe left. If both users swipe right on each other’s profile then it’s a match. Here is the tricky part that separates Bumble from other “swipe right” dating apps. After you are matched, the woman has 24 hours to “make the first move” and contact the man, otherwise the match disappears.

I honestly think that my married friends have more fun playing on my Bumble account than I ever have. This is especially true for my married friends that have been with their spouse/significant other since before dating apps existed. I can attribute many of my Bumble “matches” to my married girlfriends swiping right on a guy for me.

Alright, now that everyone is up to speed on what the Bumble dating app is, back to the Benihana Bumble Blunder story. The guy I met on Bumble last year, we’ll just call him Travis (FYI his name is not really Travis). Travis and I did the whole Bumble swipe right thing and talked through the dating app for a week or two before we met in person.

Our first couple of dates were casual and pretty great. We had good chemistry, and we both loved Game of Thrones and alcohol. It was a match made in heaven, ish. During one of our dates it came out that we both loved hibachi food. Travis proudly announced that on our next date he would take me to Benihana’s. I was impressed; one because I love hibachi, and two because Benihana’s is not cheap.

Cute haircut, fresh makeup, new nail polish, and a stunning Kelly green dress later, I was ready for my Benihana’s date. Not to brag on myself, but I looked goooooood, y’all. I looked real good, and polished, put together. Not that I don’t normally look nice, but any given day I’m usually running late, doing my makeup in the car on the way to work, my nail polish is chipped, and my hair is pulled back into a messy bun.

Dinner was fantastic. The food was amazing like always, and the company was pretty high up there as well. Travis and I shared a bottle of wine, and giggled like school girls throughout our conversation. I think he giggled more than I did, which in retrospect might explain a few things. The other couples at the hibachi table didn’t seem too thrilled with us. I think it was obvious that Travis and I were newly dating, and hadn’t begun hating each other yet like every couple inevitably does. The guy to my right stared down at his fried rice and steak the entire dinner, ignoring his wife, which was just fine since she was too busy posting on Facebook and Instagram to notice her food or husband.

Travis and I went back to his house to have a drink. Travis bragged about his collection of Comic Book hero figurines and even played a game of Show and Tell with them. I pretended to be interested in Travis’s monologue about Star Wars this and Deadpool that, but I couldn’t really follow or relate to half of what he was saying. Thank goodness he had a dog there for me to pet and play fetch with.

Halfway into the Deadpool monologue I started feeling a little rumble in my tummy. At first it was just a little rumble. No big deal. I had just eaten dinner, clearly my stomach was merely digesting the food. A little rumble turned into a lot of gurgling. I started to sweat, and hoped that Travis hadn’t heard the gurgling or noticed my sweating.

“Hey why don’t we turn off the lights and watch a movie or something,” I suggested. Anything to make the Deadpool monologue stop, plus I needed a distraction from the awful sickening feeling in my stomach.

“Yeah. Cool. Great idea,” Travis said.

We started watching Rick and Mortey. My idea, actually. Who’s the nerd now? If you haven’t watched Rick and Mortey it’s probably for the best. The sweating increased and intensified, as did the now audible volcano brewing in my stomach.

“He can you turn the volume up please? I’m having trouble hearing the show,” I lied. I needed a lot of loud noises to cover up what I was now pretty sure had become aliens trying to force their way out of my body. I was dripping with sweat. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and crossed my legs.

“Are you alright?” Travis asked.

“Umm yeah, no. I don’t know. I’m not feeling so hot,” I stammered.

Oh god. Time was up. These aliens were coming out one way or another.

“Be right back,” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran into the bathroom.

As I sat on the toilet, I whispered a short prayer to the Benihana gods…

Dear Benihana gods, I thank you for the wonderful gifts that you hath bestowed upon me tonight at dinner. Thow gifts were delicious and nourished my body. I knowith that every Benihana worshiper must offer penitence in return for such delicious gifts, but please Benihana gods, let it not be tonight. Not with Travis ten feet away in the other room.

Shockingly, my prayers went unanswered, and I offered much penitence to the Benihana gods right there on Travis’s toilet. It was like a dormant volcano had come to life, and the hot lava would not stop flowing. I was horrified.

I turned on the fan, and let water run from the sink’s faucet, anything to cover up the noise. I even tried coughing in unison with the volcanic eruptions. God I was sweaty. And mortified. It was awful. I coughed some more as I doused myself and the bathroom in Febreze.

I walked awkwardly back into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Travis. Play it cool. Play it cool. Maybe he didn’t notice? Best case scenario he heard me coughing and assumes I was purging due to my bulimia condition. I think I would have rather he thought that, than what I really did in his bathroom. So shameful.

Rick and Mortey continued playing on the TV, and the rumbling continued in my stomach. Just then, Travis’s cell phone rang. Phew a distraction.

“Oh god! Oh no. NO! Please no! Are you sure, mom?” Travis screamed into the phone.

A million scenarios flashed through my brain. His dad had a heart attack. His uncle had a stroke. His brother was in killed in a car accident. His childhood home burned to the ground, killing the beloved family cat Mittens. Luckily, nothing so horrid as any of these things transpired. Travis’s sister had been arrested for a DWI. Not an ideal situation, but things could have been a lot worse. She could have killed herself or someone else driving drunk.

Over the next hour or so Travis placed phone call after phone call. Many to his mother, multiple to his father, some to the jail where his sister was being held, one to a bail bondsmen, and more phone calls to his mother again. I sympathized, and offered my support as best I could.

Deep down I was somewhat relieved though. Every time Travis made a phone call, I snuck off to the bathroom to offer myself as tribute to the Benihana gods. Travis was too distracted with his sister’s predicament to notice what I was doing, plus my transgressions had not been the most egregious act of the evening.

I haven’t had Benihana’s since this incident, and likely will not for a long time to come. If there is such a thing as Benihana PTSD, I think I have it. I saw Travis one more time after that night, then we amicably parted ways. It was probably for the best. That was an emotional night for each of us for different reasons, but we both needed to bury the memory of that night deep down somewhere hidden.

-Katie