You asked for more dating stories. Be careful what you wish for.
My date and I returned home from a lovely winter evening at the theater. We began to trot across the parking lot to my hillside condo for brownie baking bliss. I spied with my little eye a puddle. Of course I took this opportunity to be all cutesy and dainty and fearless, hopping from one pointed toe to the other across this black abyss.
Little did I know the dark mass of puddledom was equipped with camouflage, which some might refer to as ice. With all of my mass on my tip toes, there was not enough gripping surface area to prevent the inevitable.
Down on my bottom. Right into the depth of the icy puddle.
My date flung his hands out of his pockets as he tried to catch me. Only in a good story does an attempt at chivalry backfire. This is a good story, don't you worry. He ended up flinging out all of the pocket-contents - keys, wallets, whatever else, and still not coming anywhere near to rescuing me.
In my attempt to heal my wounded pride and tenderized rump, I stood up and laughed. What else can you do? If you don't laugh, you'll cry.
He asked if I was alright, and my brilliant mind decided on this: push him and yell at him, "Why did you let me fall? You jerk!" Poor, confused date. Once he realized I was laughing, he caught on to the joke.
Now I can say I have wet my pants on a date.