Was looking to hookup through a lesbian dating app, ended up meeting a straight couple (M/F) looking for a unicorn instead. Wild times ensued.

So about a year ago, a mid-thirties couple messaged me through the dating app Her. They wanted me to be their “unicorn.” Normally, I would not have agreed to something so pernicious, but I was in a social funk at the time and had also lost my job selling Mary Kay, so I needed a little yolo in my life. That is, beyond the psychedelic mushrooms I had been ingesting at lunchtime each day.

Before heading over to their place, I made sure to prepare myself physically (lathered myself in Crisco), mentally (completed nearly half of the New York Times crossword puzzle), and spiritually (took a small amount of mushrooms and listened to an Amy Grant Christmas album). This strategy had served me well over the years at Mary Kay (right up until I got that bad batch of mushrooms), so I figured it would work well on this occasion, too.

I showed up to the couple’s place five minutes early and took off my Crocs before entering their house. They were Japanese, so it would have been a grave insult to wear them in their domicile. Also, I wanted to show off my freshly painted toenails. I was invited into their living room where the three of us proceeded to exchange emergency contact information and lists of each other’s food allergies. We followed that up with cocktails and banter before engaging in some light stretching and calisthenics. After that, we got down to business.

They wasted no time in whipping out a big, purple carrot. I was about to explain to them that they at least had to peel the thing first. Before I could, though, they affixed that carrot to me with duct tape in such a way that it sprouted forth from my forehead like some sort of mythical animal that has a single horn. The name of such a creature escapes me just now. They then changed into attire that appeared to be Nigel Thornberry cosplay and chased me around their backyard with a couple of butterfly nets. They kept swinging them at me for the better part of an hour. Each time they missed, I giggled, leapt into the air, and let out a little toot before sprinting away.

Turns out, they were simply trying to move on from the death of their two month old baby chinchilla. They’d inadvertently been feeding him the wrong type of food and he passed quite suddenly not long before our encounter. Their unsuccessful pursuit of me was a metaphor for the futility in trying to control things in life and was their way of accepting that they actually have no control whatsoever.

When it was done, they thanked me profusely and, with tears in their eyes, handed me a crisp $20 bill. I told them I could never accept their money, because impersonating an endangered species in exchange for any type of compensation in our state is considered a felony and I already had two strikes. We embraced for an appropriate duration of time, saying our goodbyes as we did.

Before departing, I told them the next time they get a chinchilla, they might want to feed it alfalfa and berries instead of sesame noodles and bukkake rolls. I’m not sure if they got the message because their faces, as well as their furniture and their living room, began to twist and melt into a swirl of colors. Within minutes, their entire house was gone, too. I was left staring at the empty lot across from me and my Nana’s house, the same one where Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid used to live before they burned it down for the insurance money and fled to Daytona Beach back in 1992. It was at that point that I resolved to cut back on mushrooms.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/54xvr1/was_looking_to_hookup_through_a_lesbian_dating