Picture this: Westgate Mall, an ordinary day or so I thought. I was minding my own business inside a Lift, ready to head out, when suddenly, from the depths of nowhere, I hear a desperate yell: “Hold the Lift!” Being the good Samaritan I am, I held the door. Enter him—the man of my dreams… and apparently, a man battling his digestive system. Now, I don’t know if the culprit escaped before he got in or as he walked in, but one thing was certain: something in that Lift was fighting for its life. The worst part? It was just the two of us. The air got awkward REAL quick. He must’ve seen the horror on my face because he scrambled to explain, mumbling something about “stomach trouble.” I wasn’t buying it. I sat there, suffocating in silence, wondering if this was my karma. The moment those doors opened, I bolted out like my life depended on it. But guess what? He FOLLOWED me. Yup, Mr. “Stomach Trouble” was hot on my heels, insisting he wanted to redeem himself. I was heading for coffee, thinking I’d escape, but nope, he invited himself right to my table. What was supposed to be a quick caffeine escape turned into coffee, then coffee turned into lunch, and before I knew it, lunch had casually rolled into dinner. Yes, dinner with the same guy who nearly gassed me out in a Lift. And here we are, five years later. Who knew love could bloom from a stinky first impression?