Tequila and Tea

When I signed up for Millionaire Match, I was expecting a few things: ego, yachts, maybe the occasional self-help quote disguised as emotional depth.
What I wasn’t expecting? Squirrels.

It started subtly—an image of a squirrel holding a heart-shaped nut. I smiled. Cute. Quirky. Maybe a low-stakes attempt to be endearing.
But then came more. A squirrel with a flower crown. A squirrel on skis. A squirrel that looked suspiciously Photoshopped into a tuxedo, staring at me like we were about to elope in the forest.

No messages of substance. No “what do you do for fun?” or “tell me something that changed your life.” Just squirrels. Day after day.

I tried to give it meaning.
Was this his spirit animal? Was he testing me? Was this a new form of communication and I’d missed the cultural memo?

Eventually, I asked, “So… are you really into squirrels or is this, like, a metaphor?”

He replied:

“They’re just so cute. Don’t you think they look like little people?”

Reader, I unmatched him.

Later, over tea, I told my girlfriend about it. She didn’t miss a beat.

“Squirrels? You mean rodents of the trees?”
And suddenly it all made sense. I wasn’t being courted—I was being scurried at.

But here’s the thing: in the surreal landscape of modern dating, sometimes it’s hard to tell whether something is a red flag or just eccentricity. And that’s the game, isn’t it?
We’re all reading signs, watching for signals, trying to decode intention from breadcrumbs—whether that’s a playlist, a meme, or in my case, a digital squirrel army.

Sometimes the universe sends you love notes.
Sometimes it sends you signs.
And sometimes, it sends you squirrels.

If you’re in the weird swirl of dating and wondering whether you’re asking too much—or if the person you’re talking to might be emotionally unavailable but emotionally invested in woodland creatures—trust your gut. You’re not too much. You’re just tuned in.