“We Can’t All Be Julia Roberts”

Let me set the scene: Me, Tiana Whitewolf, standing in the middle of Santa Fe’s railyard market, holding a to-go gyro like it’s Excalibur, on what was supposed to be the perfect first date. The night was balmy, the sky was practically screaming, “Cue the rom-com montage,” and yet, I was two seconds from calling it quits and heading straight home to binge-watch comfort trash with my dog, Moose.

You see, I had a plan. A surefire, foolproof, too-perfect-to-fail plan to wow my date, Chris, into thinking I was cool, adventurous, and the kind of woman who would inevitably make him rethink his stance on marriage (kidding, mostly). Spoiler alert: That plan did not work. At all.

But every disaster is just a potential learning moment in disguise, right? Here’s how it all went off the rails, what I learned, and why you should always pack extra Wet Wipes.

How the Misadventure Began: “Unique Equals Memorable, Right?”

When planning this first date, I decided on something a little unconventional. Dinner and drinks? Too basic. Coffee? Too safe. I wanted to dazzle Chris with the glimmering originality of my soul (and maybe the glow of artisan candles). My grand vision? A progressive outdoor date through Santa Fe’s eclectic markets, where we’d bond over tamales, street performances, and quirky crafts.

In theory, the plan was foolproof:

  1. Phase One: Start with casual mingling through the stalls to vibe-check each other’s taste in handmade pottery.
  2. Phase Two: Move on to share a bite of New Mexico’s famed green chile stew (spicy food = instant chemistry).
  3. Phase Three: Cap the evening with an impromptu salsa dance lesson because, why not embrace the vibes of the moment?

What could go wrong? (Spoiler: everything.)

Reality Check: The Greek Tragedy of Phase One

So here’s the thing about public dates—you are spectacularly at the mercy of your surroundings. And, folks, the surroundings had plans for me that night.

First, the market was inexplicably packed. Imagine a mosh pit, but replace the music with the chaotic cries of kettle corn vendors and rogue street musicians covering Coldplay for tips. Chris had the audacity to be both tall enough to walk swiftly through the crowd and polite enough to hold my hand. I, conversely, was a sweaty, short-strided mess who kept apologizing for bumping into people like I was being paid for it. Factor in my sudden need to sneeze (hi, pollen season) while holding onto a swan-shaped ceramic dish, and romance was already on very wobbly footing.

Pro tip: If you ever stare at a delicate $200 ceramic while simultaneously trying to figure out if your date’s already texting his escape plan, it’s time to review your life choices.

Sweating Through Phase Two (Literally)

Phase Two, aka food bonding, was supposed to be my saving grace. There’s something about watching someone fail at eating something messy that fosters intimacy, right? Like dripping green chile down your chin is supposed to scream, “I’m quirky but lovable!”

WRONG.

The stew we grabbed was spicy enough to trigger a full-blown crisis of sweat glands for this Navajo Hopi woman who knows her way around flavor but underestimated the ferocity of her Mexican counterparts. I managed to choke out an awkward “Wow, that’s got a kick!” with what I hoped was a confident laugh, while internally wondering which villain in my ancestral lineage cursed me. Meanwhile, Chris happily scarfed his food like he was competing for a world record, chatting about fly-fishing or something equally incomprehensible over the sound of my flaming taste buds.

Lesson learned: There is sexy food and then there is hazardous food, and knowing the difference could save your dignity someday.

Phase Three: Dancing with Disaster

By Phase Three, I knew the date was on shaky ground. But hey, salsa dancing is the ultimate card, right? If all else fails, throw in a music-fueled distraction that gets the blood pumping. Movement overcomes awkwardness, right? RIGHT?!

Well, it does—if by “overcomes awkwardness,” you mean turning reduced blood flow to your brain into an acceptable excuse for humiliation.

The volunteer dance instructor paired us with four other couples, most of whom clearly moonlit as ballroom dancers and Swift back-up dancers. Chris was game to try, which should’ve been great. He smiled. He spun me. He even got really into the movement, twirling me dramatically like I was Dancing With the Stars material. Except, at one very ill-fated moment, he miscalculated the torque on said twirl, letting me spiral directly into a hot churro cart.

Yes, I fell. Yes, churro debris and sugary ash rained down upon me like some deeply ironic epilogue to my attempt at salsa-ing into Chris’s heart. Don’t worry—I’m fine (spiritually, not emotionally). I also left with a complimentary blister on my elbow to remember the night by.

A Few Things I Learned the Hard Way

Would I recommend falling into a churro cart on your first date? Absolutely not. But did I still walk away from this chaotic evening with some gems of wisdom? You bet.

If you’re considering a first date adventure like mine, here’s what my ego and I suggest:

  • Keep it Simple
    Romantic spontaneity is noble and all, but first dates really don’t need glowsticks and salsa. Opt for something low-pressure where you can focus on each other instead of praying your green chile doesn’t ruin someone’s shirt.

  • Be Mindful of Mess Potential
    The right kind of messy is charming—like a chocolate smudge you can laugh about. The wrong kind, involving boiling soup or rolling carts of fried dough, is just painful. Leave the spice factor for later dates (or never if you’ve got my luck).

  • Laugh at Yourself
    Here’s the clincher: Nobody’s cool on a first date. Nobody! (Okay, maybe Rihanna.) But if you can own your blunders with humor, you’ll survive any disaster. After my churro cart fiasco, I made a joke about switching careers to slapstick comedy. Did Chris laugh? A little too hard, but I’ll take it.

The Big Takeaway

Here’s the thing about romance: It’s rarely perfect and often messy. (Not “knocking-over-a-churro-cart” messy, but you get the point.) The truth is, dates don’t need grand gestures or flawless execution to work. They need sincerity, respect, and a shared willingness to navigate the unexpected together.

Chris and I didn’t ride off into the sunset that night—honestly, the churro disaster was the final nail in the coffin. But I walked away realizing something important: The best connections don’t come from trying to impress someone. They come from showing up as your most authentic self—even if that version sometimes has powdered sugar on her leggings and tears in her eyes from a spicy stew.

So to anyone reading this, here’s my humble advice: Forget about planning a jaw-dropping date. Just focus on showing up, laughing at the chaos, and letting things unfold however they’re meant to. And for the love of all that’s holy, avoid churro carts.