Sometimes I wish that I had an enormous neon sign with movable numbers that I could place on the table to restaurants. That way, at any given time, the wait staff could glance over and see what their tip would be as of that moment. I imagine that nothing would get a waiter’s attention like seeing his tip falling like some sick inverse National Debt calculation.
That’s sort of how I picture my evening out with a girl. Based on the number of dates we’ve had previously, the physical reward is going to be proportionate to how little I managed to fuck up. For example, let’s say I’m on a second date. Dating law clearly states that at the end of evening number two, I’m entitled to at least cop a feel. However, if I’m unusually charming (or she’s unusually drunk) the reward can be increased to give me unrestricted boob access and a shot to steal third. If on the other hand (and much more likely) during the course of the evening I’ve said something monumentally stupid points will be subtracted and I’ll either be called back to first or thrown out of the game.
However, it really never occurred to me that a girl could do something that would make me seriously question whether her boobs were worth another night out. At least, not until a few weeks ago.
I was on a first date with a girl who I’d met through a friend. We were on our way home from a concert, and I was casually flirting.
“What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?” I asked.
“Hmmm…probably at a party.” She answered. “I ended up sleeping with this guy that I knew. We were upstairs with the door open and people were definitely walking by and looking in. In fact, when I got up the next morning, I flashed one of my friends who asleep on the floor.
“Interesting side note to that story, by the way” she went on. “That was the event that led to my abortion.”
I glanced over at her. “Did she really just say that?” I wondered. Was she joking? What the fuck do you say to that?
“Ummmm…ok.” I said in what I hoped was a neutral tone.
“Yeah, it was funny because I went in to the woman’s clinic and I still had my family’s health card. So when they sent out the bill a few weeks later, it went to my mom’s house. So I had to have the ‘Hi mom, I got knocked up’ conversation. That was no fun”
This was already, by far, the most interesting first date I’d ever been on. I mean, at this point I was afraid of saying anything to break up her rhythm. On a scale of social fuck-ups, 1 being “shitting your pants in the car on the way over to the restaurant” and 10 being “your date finds you beating off to pictures of your mother” this was somewhere around a 35.
“The only good part of the experience” she went on. “Was that my friends got together and threw me an abortion party.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
“What does one serve at an abortion party?” I finally asked. “I imagine it would consist of a lot of veal and eggs.”
“It’s easy,” she said. “You just serve everything that you’re not supposed to have while you’re pregnant. So we had wine, cigarettes, and spaghetti.”
“Pregnant women aren’t supposed to eat spaghetti?”
“No, they can. But we needed a main course. Actually, I didn’t end up eating too much. The wine didn’t mix well with the meds the doctor had given me. It was an interesting buzz, but I passed out pretty early.”
“You guys should have dropped acid and stood in front of the microwave.” I said, wistfully.
“Yeah, you’re right. But have you ever tried to get a group of people on acid to stand in one place for any length of time? Still, I guess there’s always next time.”
I was pretty much speechless by this point. I mean, really: what do you say to that? “Maybe next time I can help with the prep-work”? On one hand, it’s good to know that there’s someone out there who’s more of a social retard than me. On the other, it’s kinda scary that she knows where I live.
Still, the strangest part of the evening was when I recounted the story to my friends, they all said the same thing:
“Marry her.”
I guess now I know what my friends really think of me.
3 comments:
Wow... I can't believe she told you that story...wonder if she even realizes what an ass she made of herself... hahaha...
I wonder if her outbursts were because she was told that you were like that and she felt comfortable doing it with you.
Sure we all have things in the closet I guess with this girl you get to know the details right off the bat...
Or could you imagine the things she is holding back... I am sorry I can't stop smiling... that could be a scary one.
I always figured an abortion party would just be people sitting around eating scrambled eggs with two pronged forks made out of coat hangers. With the requisite cigarettes, hard drugs and alcohol. Celebrating both the things that you shouldn't consume while pregnant and the things that got you into this mess in the first place.
Pish posh to the whole making an ass of herself thing. She likes to fuck, doesn't care who knows and is matter of fact about getting knocked up unintentionally. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Plus you know that she has friends with a sense of humor. Stick to that girl like glue.
You're a filthy, filthy liar: I have absolutely no idea where you live.
Hee hee, I can't believe I'm just finding this now!! That story was spectacular and you know it. I'd hardly go so far as to call it an outburst though. It was more a verbal fart: unexpected and kind of gross, but try to keep from giggling about it later.
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