By far, the most outrageous place I’ve ever been is the middle of a West Texas dirt road, wearing a sequined evening gown, holding a pair of heels in one hand and the tattered remains of my dignity in the other. Now, let me set the scene.

This isn’t some quirky fashion shoot or indie film moment. This is real life—my life—and it involves a first date, a classic car-turned-death trap, and a lesson in love I wish I’d learned earlier. Stick with me, because if you’ve ever been in a situation that felt like a rom-com setup before the credits roll, this one’s for you.

The Build-Up: How a Jazz Bar Invocation Turned Into Chaos

It all started at a cozy jazz bar in Dallas. You know the kind with moody lighting, waiters who wear bow ties unironically, and music that makes you feel like Sade could walk in at any moment. He was tall, too charming for his own good, and leaning just the right amount into my personal space when he suggested—no, insisted—we take a spontaneous road trip in his vintage convertible that weekend.

Maybe it was the saxophone, or maybe it was that third glass of Malbec, but I was sold. A convertible ride under the wide Texas sky with a man who could quote Baldwin? My romantic heart said, “Yes, ma’am.” My practical brain, however, sat quietly in the dark corner, gnawing on its breadstick.

By Saturday, I was dressed to impress—an elegant evening gown paired with my favorite strappy heels, completely ignoring the fact that I wasn’t headed to a gala but a remote dinner date at a “little place he knew” on the outskirts of Marfa. I blame my enthusiasm on years of watching Audrey Hepburn movies. Did she ever pack sneakers for a road trip? Likely not. Anyway, off we went.

The Twist: What They Don’t Tell You About Vintage Cars

The first half of the drive was dreamy. We zipped through highways that seemed to stretch forever, listening to old Motown hits on scratchy speakers. I rolled my head back, letting the wind playfully mess up my hair like I was an extra in Beyoncé’s Formation video. But somewhere along mile marker “You-Should’ve-Turned-Back-By-Now,” his immaculate convertible decided to stage a protest.

I’ll spare you the mechanical jargon (primarily because I still don’t understand it), but let’s just say there’s a very specific sound that lets you know a car has given up on life. And instead of coasting into a sunset-backed small-town mechanic shop, we ended up slap dab in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but sagebrush, a single buzzard circling overhead, and the distinct taste of regret.

“I can handle this,” he said, popping the hood, his confidence leaking out faster than the radiator fluid. I stood there, my sequins shimmering under the fading daylight, praying that AAA would pick up my call even though signal bars were a mythical concept out there. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Cue the Walk of Shame (Literally)

With no solutions in sight and the temperature dropping, the “little place he knew” was still a few miles down the road. He suggested we start walking. Me. In my gown. On a dirt road. Pair it with his increasingly sheepish apologies, and suddenly, this picture-perfect date had become a deleted scene from The Twilight Zone.

Have y’all seen that meme where the glamorous woman is hiking through the wilderness in stilettos? That was me. Except it wasn’t even wilderness; it was a dusty stretch of road so deserted it made me question whether Marfa even existed or was just a myth shared by artsy types to trick city folks like me.

Cue the internal monologue: What was I thinking? Was our vibe really worth trudging through dirt, inhaling tumbleweeds, and suppressing the urge to scream into the heavens? Somewhere between adjusting my dress and dodging a suspiciously loud cricket, I answered my own question—no. No, it was not.

Lessons from Sequins and Sagebrush

Now, I’m not saying don’t date someone who quotes Baldwin or drives a vintage Mustang. I’d never rob you of that joy. But here are a few nuggets of wisdom from my dirt-road fiasco:

  • Check the “Spontaneity-O-Meter.” Is it romantic, or is it just reckless? Lining up a two-hour trip through rural Texas in a car that should probably live in a museum? That’s not spontaneity; that’s courting disaster.
  • Pack for Reality, Not Aesthetic. I will NEVER again let a Hallmark Channel fantasy dictate my footwear. These days, I don’t go anywhere without backup flats, a power bank for my phone, and at least one granola bar. Trust me; practicality never goes out of style.
  • Know Your Escape Routes. Metaphorically and literally. The second he popped that hood and started mumbling about pistons, I realized I’d given him way too much control over my evening. Understanding your limits and setting your boundaries—even on simple things like “Hey, ARE you sure the car works?”—isn’t being un-fun. It’s called self-respect.
  • Laugh. Then Move On. Sometimes, the best remedy for an absurd situation is a sense of humor. Was I annoyed at the time? Absolutely. But now, it’s a story I can whip out at dinner parties, complete with my dramatic reenactment of a prairie gust catching my gown like I’m Scarlett O’Hara.

From Flirtation to Familiarity

I did eventually make it back to civilization (and yes, there’s a diner somewhere in Marfa with a picture of me on their wall because the kind-hearted waitress thought my outfit was aspirational). More importantly, though, that date taught me something about myself: I’m capable of letting go when romance veers into ridiculousness.

Mr. Baldwin Quotes called the next day and left a voicemail so apologetic it could’ve been nominated for an Emmy. I politely declined a second date—because sometimes you have to trust Beyoncé’s wisdom: "Thank God I found the good in goodbye."

So, if you’re out there navigating the wild world of dating, I hope you’ll take my sequined misadventures as a friendly reminder to balance dreams of romance with a little bit of grounded sensibility. And if you ever find yourself stranded on a West Texas road? Well, at least make sure your outfit is memorable. Because life’s too short not to sparkle, even under the most unforgiving conditions.