My Not-So-Future Husband

This is the horrific recap of #MyWorstDate in all its terrifying glory.

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High school is filled with dreadful memories and embarrassing hiccups in judgment. When it comes to having a high school crush, all judgment is thrown out the window. Sure, he might have a bad rap and every grown-up within a 20-mile range hates him, but he is THE ONE. Right? After months of trying to get into his clique of friends and spending hours trying to look perfect for a chance encounter in the hallways between classes he finally did it. He asked me out on an actual date.

My heart started beating heavily as he leaned against a neighboring locker looking oh-so good and gazing into my eyes as he asked me to come over to his house and hangout. I could barely hear myself agreeing over the loud thumping noise coming from my chest. Trying to look cool and composed, I walked off as elegantly as possible to my next class.

So what if my parents hate him and my friends think I’m verging on delusional. He had asked me out. All the months of watching him with other girls and waiting for my day in the sun had finally paid off. The urge to vomit was miraculously pushed down as I attempted to go through the rest of the school day without completely losing it.

As soon as the final bell rang I ran to my friends to tell them what had happened. They weren’t elated but tried to fake happiness as best they could. My mind was rushing too fast to even care about their meaningless opinions.

Lying to my mother about a slumber party, I spent the next five hours getting ready. Sure, a few red flags had gone up when I thought of going over to his house during nighttime, but reason had left my mind ages ago. Finally feeling presentable for my future husband, I got into my car and went over to his house.

With butterflies running a mile a minute I walked towards the front door and lamely knocked until the door opened. Stunned to see that it wasn’t my future husband, I followed the strange man to the living room to find a group of guys ogling over the TV screen that had Call of Duty playing. Barely looking up from the screen, my date gives a little nod of acknowledgment before returning to his game.

Feeling completely overdressed now and unbelievably awkward I sit on the sofa next to a guy stoned out of his mind giggling for no reason at all. The stoner asks me if I’d like a drink, which I agree to immediately. Disappearing into the kitchen he comes back out with a red cup filled with something that burns the hairs in my nostrils. Not wanting to look like a preppy little girl, I take a big gulp of the disgusting alcoholic drink and force the liquid down my throat.

Forcefully holding back my urge to gag, I sit there in utter silence as they continue their game, passing a bong around in between kills. Once it comes to me I sit there dumbfounded. How the hell do I use this thing? I wait until attention is turned away from me and pretend to use the odd makeshift device before giving it to the next participant.

After what feels like an eternity of this horrid affair, the game seems to finally bore them enough to switch into movie night mode. All the boys move to the sofa while my not-so-future husband wraps his arm around my shoulders. The stench of pot and alcohol follows his arm making the urge to gag that much more intense. The movie is action packed and far too boring to keep up with but I try my hardest to pay attention. All around me roaring laughter stirs at scenes that have no comedic value whatsoever.

How do I get out of this? My mind is swimming with thoughts and excuses to leave, but my lips are too nervous to move. After a while the decision has been made. I’ll just pretend to fall asleep. The idea works a little too good as I find myself slowly drifting off; faintly hearing murmurs and laughter in the background as I fall into a deep sleep.

Finally waking up sometime in the middle of the night, I sit up to find myself lying on a couch by myself. I look around to try and groggily figure out what is going on. Tiptoeing to the other rooms I find the man I used to be so head-over-heels for asleep in his bed.

Knowing I can’t go home now with my slumber party lie, I silently tip-toe out of the house and into my car. Driving until I find a dimly lit parking lot, I park my car and try my hardest to fall asleep until a suitable time to come home.

Humiliated with the entire events that had unfolded and my poor judgment I give a vague story to my friends about the date and pretend that all went well. When he meets at my locker the next day I pretend that I had enjoyed myself. “Wanna do something tomorrow?” he asks. A poor excuse is given about plans I don’t have.

“Your loss,” he winks while shrugging his shoulders and walking away. Does he actually think I had a good time? I watch him walk away in utter shock, promising myself that the next time I find a guy hot, I will wholeheartedly take my friends opinions before going on a potentially horrendous date.