My friend Jana, Queen of the Metaphysical Plane, called the other day.

"I just had the worst date of my entire life," she said.

I have to admit I was alarmed; as Jana herself will tell you, her worst dates usually end in marriage.

Three times in her current incarnation alone. She refuses to discuss the details of her past lives.

"It's a karma thing," she says, and changes the subject.

This time around, though, no one ended up in church or divorce court, Jana reports.

"Just abject humiliation," she said.

It seems they got to the restaurant and her date, "The Rat," (I assume that's not his real name) had several cocktails and proceeded to give Jana the scoop on his recently terminated marriage.

"Many, many details," Jana said. "I must have been a man in a previous existence."

Ouch.

Well, to make a long story short, The Rat wound up becoming intoxicated and spied Brenda, who had fixed him up with Jana in the first place, over in the bar.

As it turned out, Brenda had also been on the receiving end of several recreational beverages, and of course she and The Rat wound up leaving together.

"Guess who got stuck with the check?" Jana asked. "And Brenda's bar tab!"

I'm sure anyone who's ever been fixed up has at least one horrible tale to tell.

It's not so much the fact that you may find yourself stuck on an awful date as it is spending the rest of your life wondering what in the name of the dating gods the friend who fixed you up was thinking.

My friend Sheri tells a story about the time her boss introduced her to a very nice accountant.

On their second date, everything was going wonderfully when Mr. CPA looked up and saw his wife (and her sister) glaring at him from across the restaurant.

Some things just aren't meant to be.

My friend Mitch talks about the date who ended every sentence with "if my therapist thinks it's OK."

Could have been worse, I reminded him; there are probation officers.

And mothers.

Mitch once introduced me to a very nice man we'll call Bob.

"He's a nice guy; he's got a good job and no criminal record," Mitch said. "He could be the man of your dreams."

We met for coffee to start off with because it's a nice non-threatening way to make sure you want to be seen with each other in public.

Besides, even if I don't want the relationship, I can always use the caffeine.

Well, Bob was coming back with a refill of his double decaf mocha latte, slipped on the Mexican tile, fell into his chair and spilled the large cup of steaming coffee into his lap.

Wonderful, I thought, as Bob sat dazed and contemplating the damage; the man of my dreams will forever associate me with a scalded crotch.

Strangely enough, I haven't heard from Bob again.

Maybe the skin grafts are keeping him busy.

It's taken awhile, but I've finally trained myself not to cringe when a friend says, "I know someone you just have to meet..."

And I've stopped linking the phrase "fix up" and dilapidated structures rehabbed over a period of months on cable television shows.

It's a karma thing.

Peggy O'Farrell is a copy editor for the Southeast Missourian.