In my junior year of high school, a boy asked me to a date. He rented a Redbox movie and cooked a pizza. We were watching the movie as the oven beeped so the pizza was done. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “This is the worst part.” I then watched him open the oven and pull the pizza out with his bare hands, including the rack, shouting at the top of his lungs. We never went on a second date.