The dress code was black tie and permanent press

She invited me to a "private charity gala" for our first date. I rented a tux because apparently I'm a man who hears "tiny sandwiches" and abandons all judgment. The address was a laundromat. She was standing beside a dryer in a sparkly dress, holding two plastic champagne flutes full of lemonade. Cute improvised date? I could work with that. Then she handed me a roll of tickets and said, "You're running the raffle." There was no charity. She wanted strangers to pay for chances to win the clothes she didn't feel like folding. The grand prize was a fitted sheet she described as "an architectural textile." When nobody bought tickets, she announced that I was a bachelor available for silent bidding. I said absolutely not. She crossed out BACHELOR and wrote MYSTERY EXPERIENCE. I left while she was asking a man transferring towels whether he'd consider being our corporate sponsor. The tux rental place asked if the event went well. I said the evening had a spin cycle but no clean ending.