Apparently a woman went on a blind date and brought 23 family members with her.

Twenty-three.

At that point, it’s not a blind date. It’s a family reunion with one unsuspecting donor.

The bill was $3,100. The man declined to pay and, honestly, I have questions but mostly for her.

Who thinks, “I’m meeting a stranger for dinner. I’ll bring my entire extended family. This should go well.”

And can we really blame the guy for running?

I would have left too.

In fact, I wouldn’t have made it past the appetizers.

There’s something psychologically fascinating about this story, assuming it’s even true. We talk endlessly about dating red flags, but 23 surprise relatives feels less like a red flag and more like the entire Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade marching directly toward you.

Maybe I’m cynical.

Maybe I’m old-fashioned.

But if I agree to a blind date, I’m expecting one person I don’t know.

Not her mother, cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, in-laws, second cousins and apparently everyone who happened to be hungry that night.

Dating is hard enough without needing a seating chart.

And $3,100 later, I’m thinking the only truly blind person at that table was the guy who showed up.