Being a radio host who gives dating advice doesn’t make navigating love any easier—especially when I crashed my best friend’s first date dressed as a clown. What happened that night was unexpected, and now I’m caught in a situation I never saw coming. Sometimes, life takes you where you least expect.
Once again, I found myself in Lucy’s cozy kitchen, she animatedly talked about yet another man who had caught her attention. Lucy’s love life was always buzzing with activity, unlike mine.
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Finding a partner wasn’t easy for me—I didn’t want to date just to avoid being alone.
I believed it was better to wait than to settle, even if that meant coming home to my cat instead of a husband.
“He’s perfect!” Lucy said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “We’ve been texting nonstop. He’s so sweet. I think he might be different.”
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“So, you haven’t actually met him yet?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not yet, but we’re meeting Friday. I’m so excited. I can feel this is going to be great!” she said.
I smirked without meaning to.
“What’s that look for?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
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“Nothing. It’s just… you don’t even know him yet. People can seem amazing online but be completely different in real life,” I said.
“You’re so distrustful. That’s why you don’t have a man,” Lucy replied, crossing her arms.
“I don’t have a man because men are idiots,” I said with a shrug.
“Not Mike. He’s wonderful. I think he might even be the one,” she said.
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“Listen to your heart,” I replied. That was my go-to advice, though Lucy said it about every guy she met.
After that evening, I forgot about Mike and Lucy’s upcoming date—until Friday arrived, and I received a message from her.
There I was, dressed as a clown, surrounded by kids—my niece’s friends—because my brother had forgotten to hire an entertainer for her birthday party.
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The striped clown suit was too tight, and the red wig itched like crazy. I could feel sweat dripping down my back as kids tugged at my oversized shoes and poked my sides.
“Well, you can do it,” my brother had said, as if asking me to juggle balloons and make kids laugh was no big deal.
“I’m a radio host, not an entertainer!” I snapped.
“It’s basically the same thing,” he replied with a grin.
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Even though I wanted to storm out, we both knew I wouldn’t. I always stepped in for family, no matter how ridiculous the request.
As I tried to keep the kids from snatching my wig, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I quickly checked it, careful to keep my clown nose in place.
@Lucy
When will you be free???
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@Me
About half an hour
@Lucy
I need your help!!!!
@Me
What happened??
I frowned. Lucy was on her date with Mike. Had something gone wrong?
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@Lucy
I don’t know if Mike likes me! I need you to find out!
@Me
How am I supposed to do that?
@Lucy
You do this all the time on your radio show!
@Me
I’m in a clown costume!!!
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@Lucy
Pleaseeeeeee
@Me
Fine, but you owe me.
@Lucy
Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!
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I sighed, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. After peeling off the kids and saying goodbye, I messaged Lucy for the location and called a cab.
When I walked into the dimly lit bar, Lucy spotted me instantly and waved enthusiastically.
I hesitated, adjusting my ridiculous clown wig as a group of strangers gave me confused looks. Taking a deep breath, I made my way to their table.
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Lucy beamed as I sat down. “Mike, this is Trish, my best friend,” she said.
“Nice to meet you,” Mike said. His eyes briefly flicked to my bright red nose.
“Hi,” I replied, trying to ignore how ridiculous I looked.
Lucy launched into small talk, but the conversation quickly shifted. Mike mentioned a classic movie, and I couldn’t help but jump in.
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“You’re into old films?” I asked, intrigued.
“Big time,” Mike said, his face lighting up.
We exchanged favorite titles, diving into directors and scenes. Lucy fidgeted, looking uninterested. I tried to change topics, but Mike kept steering it back.
When Lucy excused herself, I leaned in. “So, what do you think of Lucy?” I asked.
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“Um… I mean, she’s cute,” Mike said, glancing away like he wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Nice? Lucy is more than cute. She’s amazing,” I said, my voice firm. “She’s funny, smart, and a great cook. I go to her place for dinner sometimes because I can’t stand cooking.”
“I love cooking,” Mike said, smiling a little.
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“See? You two already have something in common,” I said, trying to be encouraging. But then he looked right at me.
His eyes seemed to study mine, and for a moment, I felt something strange. It was like a spark, something unexpected. My cheeks got warm, and I quickly smiled back.
“But I don’t want to argue over who cooks dinner,” Mike said, breaking the moment. “There should only be one chef in the kitchen.”
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I laughed. “So, you’re the chef?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Always,” he said with a grin, and we both laughed.
Just then, Lucy returned to the table. “What’s so funny?” she asked, looking between us. “Were you talking about me?”
“Sort of,” I said.
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Mike’s phone buzzed, and he excused himself to take the call. The moment he left, Lucy turned to me eagerly. “So? What does he think of me?”
“He thinks you’re cute,” I said carefully. “What do you think of him?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Watching you two, I feel like he’s more your type.”
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“Pfft. What? No. What? No,” I stammered.
“Not very convincing,” she said with a smirk.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s your date,” I said firmly. “There’s a rule—never go after your friend’s guy.”
“It’s just a first date,” Lucy said with a shrug. Then she smiled. “But I’m glad you reacted like that—I think I really like him.”
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I smiled back, but deep down, something felt off. A tiny pang of sadness hit me, and I wasn’t sure why.
We stayed a bit longer, and I tried to shift the focus so Mike and Lucy could talk.
But every time I said something to steer the conversation, Mike directed his answers back to me. It was hard not to notice, and Lucy didn’t seem thrilled.
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When we decided to leave, Lucy headed to the restroom again, leaving me alone with Mike. The night air was cool, and I shivered a little.
“So, do you work as an entertainer?” Mike asked, his tone light.
“Why do you ask?” I replied, narrowing my eyes playfully. Then I saw him glance at my outfit, and it hit me. “Oh, no! I host a radio show. Dating advice, mostly. My niece had a birthday party, and my brother forgot to hire an entertainer.” I gestured to my clown costume with a sheepish smile.
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“Well, that’s bold of you,” Mike said, grinning.
“It was fine until the kids tried to tear my costume apart. They’re little savages,” I joked.
Mike laughed. “Kids can be wild. They’ve got endless energy.”
“Yeah, but they mean well,” I said.
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He paused. “Listen, Trish…” he began, his voice softer, but before he could finish, Lucy appeared.
“Want to walk me home?” she asked him brightly. “I live close by.”
“Of course,” Mike said, stepping toward her.
He turned back to me, and we both hesitated. He went for a hug while I offered a handshake, and we ended up with an awkward high five.
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It made us laugh, but as they walked away, I felt something strange, a little twist in my chest.
The next few days passed quietly. Lucy didn’t say much about Mike, which was unusual for her.
She only mentioned that he hadn’t wanted to come up to her apartment after their date.
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She shrugged it off, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled. I didn’t press her for details.
One morning, as I was sipping my coffee, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.
@Unknown
Hey 🙂 It’s Mike. I know this is weird, but would you like to meet up sometime?
I stared at the screen, my stomach flipping.
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@Me
How did you get my number?
@Unknown
Secret 😉 So, what do you think?
I frowned, trying to steady my thoughts.
@Me
Sorry, I don’t go on dates with men my friends like.
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@Unknown
Lucy and I only had one date. But I haven’t felt a connection like this in years—with anyone. Not until I met you.
My chest tightened. I stared at the words longer than I should have.
@Me
Sorry, but no.
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I set my phone down. Saying no felt like the right thing, but his words lingered, leaving a knot I couldn’t untangle.
I tried to shake it off and focus on work. During my radio show, I put on my usual cheerful voice, pretending my own heart wasn’t a mess.
“Hi, this is Trish. How can I help with your love troubles?” I said, wishing someone could help with mine.
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“Hi,” a man’s voice said, calm and familiar. “I don’t date much. It’s hard for me to find a connection with someone. But recently, I went on a date with one woman. Her friend showed up in a clown costume. And, well, with the friend, I felt something I haven’t felt in years—maybe ever.”
I froze. My heart skipped a beat. It was Mike.
“But she won’t go out with me. She says it’s wrong. I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I really like her.”
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My mouth went dry. “Maybe you should listen to her and let it go,” I managed, my voice unsteady.
“She’s unforgettable. The kind of person who stays with you for a lifetime,” he said softly.
I smiled, caught off guard. “You probably just think that because she was wearing a clown costume,” I said, my tone lighter.
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“I’d remember her no matter what she wore,” he replied without hesitation. “So, will this girl go out with me?”
I hesitated, feeling torn. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” I said quietly.
Before I could say more, my producer buzzed in. “Take the next call—it’s important,” she said.
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I switched lines. “Go out with him! You have my blessing!” Lucy yelled through the line. I blinked, stunned. “Finally, a guy you like!”
“But you like him,” I stammered, realizing we were still live.
“Not really. He likes you,” Lucy said.
“It’s not right,” I protested weakly.
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“Forget right or wrong. Listen to your heart. You always say that to others. Take your own advice for once,” Lucy urged.
“So, what do you say?” Mike’s voice came back, gentle but insistent. “Her friend gave her blessing.”
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I sighed, my walls crumbling. “Yes,” I whispered.
The sound engineer played an applause track, and I couldn’t help but laugh. My face burned as I blushed, feeling completely exposed—but strangely happy.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Attending my daughter’s wedding was supposed to be a joyful moment, but facing my ex-husband and his new wife turned everything upside down. Old wounds resurfaced, and new betrayals came to light. I thought I’d left the past behind, but this trip forced me to confront truths I wasn’t ready to face.
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Neighbors Made Me Put up a Fence to Hide an ‘Ugly’ Car in My Yard – A Week Later, They Begged Me to Remove It
I didn’t quite see my neighbors’ vintage ’67 Chevy Impala the same way, but to me it was more than just a rusty heap. What was supposed to be a fight over a “eyesore” developed into something none of us saw coming. It altered our peaceful suburban street in ways we never would have imagined.
My dad left me an ancient, beat-up 1967 Chevy Impala. I saw it as a project I wanted to restore and a reminder of my father, even though most people just saw it as a rusted automobile. My garage was piled high with tools and spare components, so the automobile sat in my yard. I’d been trying to save money and find time to work on it, but I knew it looked awful.
But my neighbors were far more concerned about this than I was. I was out inspecting the Impala one bright afternoon when I suddenly remembered something. Gus, my dad, was demonstrating how to change the oil. He smiled, his thick mustache twitching. “You see, Nate? It isn’t complicated science. Simply perseverance and hard work,” he had stated. A piercing voice jolted me back to reality as I was lost in thinking as I ran my fingers over the worn paint. A man leaning against a vintage car’s front end.
Please pardon me, Nate. Could we discuss about that? I turned to see my next-door neighbor, Karen, pointing disgustingly at the Impala. Hello, Karen. What’s going on?” Knowing where this was going, I asked.”That vehicle. It is aesthetically offensive. With crossed arms, she remarked, “It’s destroying the appearance of our street.” I exhaled. “I realize it appears rough right now, but I intend to fix it. It was my dad’s, but Karen cut him off, saying, “I don’t care whose it was.” It must be removed. or at the very least remain unseen. She pivoted and marched back to her house before I could reply.
As I watched her leave, I noticed a knot in my stomach. I vented to my girlfriend Heather over dinner later that night. “Do you think she’s real? “It seems as though she is unaware of the significance this car holds for me,” I remarked, picking at my salad. Squeezing my hand, Heather reached across the table. “I understand, sweetie. However, would you try working on it a little bit more quickly? simply to demonstrate to them your progress? I nodded, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t that easy. Time was of the essence, and parts were costly.
When I returned home a week later, I discovered a notice from the city hidden beneath the wiper on my “offending” car. As I read it, my stomach fell. The general idea was to either remove the car or conceal it behind a fence. I clenched the piece of paper in my hand, feeling a surge of rage within. This was absurd. I required guidance. I picked up my friend Vince, who also loves cars. “Hey, buddy, have a moment? I’d like your opinion on something. Okay, what’s going on? Vince’s voice came across the phone crackling. I described the circumstances, becoming more irritated as I spoke. Before he spoke, Vince was silent for a while.
He spoke carefully and added, “Build the fence, but add a twist.” “What do you mean?” I curiously inquired.”You’ll discover. This weekend, I’ll be here. This will provide for some enjoyable times. Vince arrived that weekend with a truck full of paint and wood. For the next two days, we worked on erecting a towering fence to enclose my front yard. Vince told me about his strategy as we worked together. “We’re going to decorate this fence with a mural of the Impala. Every rust mark, every ding. We’ll make sure they remember the car if they decide to hide it. Loved the idea, I smiled. “Let’s get started.”On Sunday, we painted. Even though none of us was artistic, we were able to replicate the Impala on the fence really well.
For added effect, we even made some of the flaws seem worse. I was satisfied with my work when we took a step back to admire it. I decided to find out what the neighbors thought of this. It didn’t take me long to learn. There came a knock on my door the following afternoon. When I opened it, a cluster of neighbors surrounding Karen as she stood there. Their expressions were a peculiar mix of desperation and rage. “Nate, we need to talk about the fence,” Karen said in a tight voice. Hiding my delight, I leaned against the doorframe. How about it? I followed your instructions.
The automobile is now hidden.An older man called Frank, one of the other neighbors, raised his voice. We understand that we requested you to conceal the car, but this mural is simply too much, son. I arched an eyebrow. “Too much? In what way? Karen let out a deep sigh. “It’s more awful than the car itself. It appears as though you’ve transformed your entire yard into… “A show of art?” Unable to control my sarcasm, I made a suggestion. “A disgrace,” Karen firmly concluded. “We would prefer to see the actual car instead of this… monstrosity.”Maybe a little too much, I enjoyed their anguish as I crossed my arms. Now, allow me to clarify. You made me spend money on a fence after complaining about my automobile, and now you want me to pull it down? They all gave bashful nods.
After giving it some thinking, I decided to remove the fence—but only under one condition. As long as I’m working on fixing the car, you guys promise to quit whining about it. Alright?They glanced at one another before grudgingly agreeing. I could hear them whispering to each other as they left. I started tearing down the fence the following day. Some of my neighbors were seeing me work with interest. Even Tom, one of them, stopped over to talk. “I never really looked at that car before, Nate,” he remarked, pointing to the Impala. However, after getting a closer look, I can see that it has potential. Which year is it?I grinned, always up for a conversation about the car. It’s a 1967. When I was a little child, my dad purchased it. Tom gave a grateful nod. Good. My brother has a thing for vintage autos.
In the event that you require assistance with the restoration, I might contact him. I took aback at the offer. That would be fantastic. Regards, Tom. In the ensuing weeks, word of my initiative grew. To my astonishment, a number of neighborhood auto aficionados began dropping by to examine the Impala and provide guidance or assistance. I was working on the engine one Saturday morning when I heard a familiar voice behind me. “So, this is the well-known vehicle, huh?” I turned to see Karen standing there, intrigued yet seeming uneasy. I wiped my hands with a cloth and remarked, “Yep, this is her.” Karen moved in closer, staring at the motor. “I must admit that my knowledge of autos is quite limited.
How are you spending your time? Startled by her curiosity, I gave the bare outline of the project I was working on. More neighbors flocked around to listen and ask questions while we conversed. My yard quickly became the scene of an unplanned block party. A cooler full of drinks was brought out, and individuals started talking about their early automotive experiences or their recollections of owning vintage automobiles. I was surrounded by my neighbors as the sun was setting, and we were all conversing and laughing. Karen seems to be having fun as well. Looking at the Impala in the lovely evening light, it seemed better than ever, while still being rusty and battered up.
I couldn’t help but think about how much my father would have enjoyed this scene.Speaking to the group, I remarked, “You know, my dad always said a car wasn’t just a machine.” It was a narrative reimagined. Considering how many stories this old girl has brought out today, I believe he would be quite pleased. There were lifted glasses and murmurs of agreement. I noticed something as I turned to face my neighbors, who were now my pals. Despite all of the difficulty it had caused, this car had ultimately brought us all together. Though the restoration was still a long way off, I sensed that the voyage ahead would be much more pleasurable. Who knows?
Perhaps a whole neighborhood full of vintage vehicle lovers would be eager to go for a drive by the time the Impala was ready to hit the road. I lifted my cup. “To wonderful cars and good neighbors,” I uttered. Everyone applauded, and while I was surrounded by smiles and lively chatter, it occurred to me that sometimes the greatest restorations involve more than simply automobiles. They also care about the community. How would you have responded in that situation?
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