It all started with seaweed—specifically, the neon green sea lettuce that clings to Maine’s rocky tidepools like nature’s confetti. I’d seen it a thousand times before, fluttering just below the surface of calm tidal waters, but on this particular summer afternoon, it became the centerpiece of my grand romantic gesture. Spoiler alert: it didn’t exactly go according to plan.

The Idea That Was Supposed to Be "Romantic"

Here’s the backstory: I had just started dating this guy, Seth. Seth was a transplant from New York City, and he was new to all things Maine. He still called lobsters “crawfish,” which is a near-unpardonable offense in my hometown of Bar Harbor. But he had this wide-eyed charm that made him endearing, and being the somewhat oblivious optimist I am, I decided to plan what felt like the ultimate Maine-themed date.

The pitch: a rugged, rustic picnic on one of Acadia National Park’s lesser-known trails. I envisioned us perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the ocean, sipping wild blueberry soda and eating sandwiches with fresh lobster salad I would prepare myself. The pièce de résistance? Homemade seaweed chips. Pinterest told me they’d pair beautifully with my coastal-inspired lunch. I aimed to show Seth just how magical living by the sea could be. Little did I know, the magic would more closely resemble the comedic hijinks of a rom-com than anything truly romantic.

The Prep Work (A Disaster in Itself)

I spent all morning perfecting this picnic. The sandwiches looked like they belonged in a lifestyle magazine (as long as no one photographed the messy side). I made the seaweed chips from scratch, roasting sea lettuce I’d foraged in carefully chosen tidepools. This part deeply satisfied my love for living off the land, like some coastal hunter-gatherer with a flair for drama.

The chips did not taste as Pinterest had promised. But undeterred and armed with optimism, I added a sprinkle of garlic powder and told myself they were “an acquired taste.” Every relationship involves compromise, right?

Then came the picnic basket debacle. The latch broke midway through my packing efforts, resulting in me transporting everything in a reusable grocery tote that smelled faintly of balsamic vinegar from some long-past incident. But hey, practicality over aesthetics, right? I figured Seth wasn’t here for my ability to assemble photogenic wicker baskets. (Hopefully.)

“The Date” (In Name Only)

Seth showed up in sneakers so white they could’ve been featured in a detergent commercial. This didn’t bode well for a trek on muddy, root-laden trails. I gently suggested he change into the hiking boots he’d casually slung over his shoulder, but he waved it off, saying, “These are fine!” It turns out they weren’t fine. They were absolutely, comically, not fine.

About five minutes into our hike, his sneakers were caked in mud. By minute ten, he slipped on a mossy rock and fell in a spectacular fashion that included flailing limbs and, somehow, a triumphant save of his water bottle mid-air. I stifled my laughter, handing him my only clean napkin as a peace offering.

When we finally reached the picnic spot I’d scouted, the view was as breathtaking as I had hoped: waves cresting in frothy white peaks, gulls calling overhead, and the rich scent of salt air. It was the kind of setting where you could almost hear a soundtrack swelling in the background—except for the squelch of Seth’s muddy shoes echoing against the rocks.

I laid out the food like the hopeful hostess I was, hoping the mishaps could be salvaged by good company and good eats. Seth’s face lit up at the sight of the lobster salad sandwiches. Then he tried the seaweed chips.

Oh, The Seaweed

“I mean…” Seth chewed politely, his face contorting into what I can only describe as the expression of a man deeply questioning his life choices. “They’re, uh, interesting?”

“Interesting good, or interesting bad?” I pressed.

He hesitated just a moment too long, which told me all I needed to know.

And then the wind decided to join the fun. A rogue gust swept through, carrying the chips off the plate and sprinkling them down the rocky slope like confetti at a wedding nobody asked for. As luck would have it, my tote bag tipped over at the same time, sending a sandwich skidding toward a nearby puddle of brackish water. I scrambled to grab it, but it was too late. Lobster perfection, ruined.

Seth and I stared at each other for a beat before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The kind of laughter that doubles you over and makes you forget, for just a moment, that mud-covered sneakers and weird seaweed experiments aren’t exactly the stuff of cinematic romance.

The Takeaway: Misadventures Make Memories

Looking back, that date was a complete misadventure—but one I wouldn’t trade for anything. Sure, I could’ve skipped the seaweed chips (and maybe the trail that required advanced balancing skills), but the imperfections were what made the day unforgettable. Perfectly planned dates are fine in theory, but sometimes it’s the bumbles, slips, and gusts of wind that remind us how human we are.

Here’s what I’ve learned about "wrong-turn" dates like this one:

  1. Your partner isn’t grading you on perfection. More often than not, shared laughter over things going awry means more than meticulously arranged sandwiches. Be yourself—even if your “self” forgets to pack extra napkins.

  2. Nature is unpredictable—embrace it. Maine has taught me that you can’t out-plan the elements. If you want to impress someone, lean into what nature serves up that day, whether it’s calm seas or messy winds. Flexibility is the MVP of coastal romance.

  3. Food experiments are better tested solo. While it’s fine to introduce your date to something new, maybe save the seaweed chips for round two—or at least have a backup snack ready. (Trail mix will never betray you.)

  4. Misadventures bond people. The funny, awkward, or downright disastrous moments? They make the best stories later. Seth and I didn’t last long-term, but the memory of that date still makes me smile years later.

Flirting with Imperfection

If you’re reading this and your most recent date didn’t go as planned, take heart. While Seth and I didn’t ultimately become each other’s forever person, that day taught me one of my favorite lessons: Sometimes, the messiest, muddiest, most wind-swept memories are the ones that linger longest. Romance isn’t about flawless execution—it’s about facing the mishaps together, laughing at life’s absurd curveballs, and learning that perfection is overrated.

So here’s to you, reader. Go forth, plan the date, pack the seaweed chips, and trip on the trail if you must. At the very least, you’ll have a story worth telling (and retelling) for years to come.