When I tried online dating, the guy wouldn't stop talking about his ant farm on our first date. Then, an ant crawled out of his shirtsleeve.

• I struggled to meet people, so I signed up for Match.com and went on a date at a restaurant.
• My date was attractive, but our conversation quickly took an unexpected turn.

I was 21 years old and too busy with my marketing internship to meet people the old-fashioned way. Out of curiosity (and slight desperation), I turned to Match.com for some help. After a few days of mindless scrolling, I matched with Brad, a 24-year-old software engineer who lived a few miles from my office.

He was seemingly normal and conventionally good-looking, with brown hair and green eyes. On his profile, he had expressed interest in movies and "science." OK. There were only two pictures featured on his profile — one of him hiking somewhere and the other of him posing next to a great-aunt named Shirley. Not much information to go off, but then again, sometimes less is more.

The conversation at dinner was subpar

There wasn't much chitchat in our messages. I don't mind that — I'd rather get to know someone in person, so we quickly exchanged numbers and planned to meet at a local Thai restaurant for a first date. I was early, as usual, and I used this time to order a huge glass of pinot grigio with two ice cubes. Brad walked in about 15 minutes late carrying an oddly bulky backpack. This should have been my first clue that something was strange.

"What do you do for fun?" he asked over spring-roll appetizers. I answered with details about my jogging routine, my favorite Chicago bar, and my fledgling writing career. In total, my share of the conversation took about two minutes.

When I politely reciprocated the question, Brad cracked his knuckles and flashed me an unsettling grin, revealing a distracting hunk of cilantro between his two front teeth. I would not speak again for the next hour.

Soon, he revealed his 'unique' hobby

Ants. Brad liked ants. Carpenter ants, to be specific, and he had an entire farm of them. Carpenter ants chew wood, but they don't eat it. Did you know that? Neither did I, until Brad graciously informed me. They also bite, but only when threatened. Only when threatened.

He emphasized this point more than once. Carpenter ants are gentle creatures unless you mess with them, I was told. "They just don't like to be bugged!" he said, howling at his own joke. By this point, the Earth had stopped revolving on its axis, and time as we know it had come to a grinding halt. But Brad kept right on talking about ants.

Our waitress appeared several times throughout Brad's ant-ics, but he brushed her off on every occasion. No matter, I'd lost my appetite somewhere between sand-supply-store locations and questions about optimal colony size. While he rambled on, I dug my fork into the table and started carving tiny skulls and crossbones into the sticky wood. Finally, Brad started to get the hint. In silent defeat, he rested both button-sleeved arms on the table and sighed.

I didn't think the date could get any worse — until a surprise guest appearance

That's when I saw it.

A teeny tiny something wriggling out from beneath Brad's cuff. A piece of dust? Some lint? A personality? Of course not. It could only be a living breathing carpenter ant.

"This has never happened before!" Brad said, cupping the little guy in his palm. The waitress and I locked eyes over his shoulder. With a solemn nod and a steely gaze, she saluted me in a way that only a fellow blind-date victim could.

Brad started shuffling around in his backpack. Eventually, he emerged with a medium-size Tupperware container (that he conveniently happened to have!) and ushered the ant inside of it. Grabbing leftover bits of spring roll from his appetizer plate, he shoved a few carrots in there, too, for good measure.

And then, the coup de grâce. Tenderly leaning into the carrot-filled plastic container, he whispered to his ant: "Don't worry, buddy. We'll be home soon."

Like magic, the waitress appeared at my side.

"Your appetizers have been comped," she said with a wink. And I didn't need to be told twice. I shot out the front door of that restaurant like an insect from a buttonhole.

I guess you could say I was antsy to get home.