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Alcohol, vomit, and urine: mix it thoroughly to make my worst date. I had never dated; I finished high school in a relationship; we were together five years after that. So I have zero experience dating in the real world. My best friend Shelby knew this and assumed she could help me. Work had introduced an abundance of men and she elected to play matchmaker.
She tutored "John" when she was in school, since then he became a single parent. Shelby figured since we both had children, we could be an adorable couple. It provided us matters to discuss: baby mama/daddy drama, goofy things our babies did, life with them. She gave John my number, and he started the conversations. He repeatedly tried to obtain dinner with me but I consistently made excuses.
Dating was an issue I that made me uneasy. I lived with my daughter's father for six years. I thought I still had a chance with him. Vulnerable and still healing over my breakup, John caused the ideal distraction. He protected me from sending texts to my ex. It was nice, but I concluded not to "hook-up" or date. John reassured me he could not push me, he liked chatting. The party changed our basic relationship.
Shelby had a small get together at her home. As her best friend, it means I did not need an invitation. I had my daughter's dad to take care of her for the night and devoted the evening with Shelby building a fire. Relax by the flames, drink beers, and report life situations and that was our regular baby free night. Tonight she invited John. Shelby promised that it was just a face-to-face meet and if I got awkward, she could rescue me. I hugged her as his red ford pulled into her drive.
The night started off smooth and relaxing but John needed more excitement. He suggested several drinking games; two hours later I was throwing up and drunk girl weeping. This poor guy seated in the restroom with me and held my hair. When it looked like my body was done, John slid into the floor with me and placed me in his lap.
He apologized for getting me this drunk and forced my head on his chest. His cologne invaded my nose even through the smell of the campfire. At once, my body found something else to puke. I did not have time to spin to the toilet, my bile found his white t-shirt. I stared up at him and wailed. He guaranteed me it was fine. He had a change of clothes in his pickup. Through sobs, I clarified that I did not just vomit.
My body cannot cough, sneeze, giggle, or throw up without peeing since having a baby. I peed in his lap on top of throwing up on him. I was ashamed and pleaded him to just take me home. He agreed and lead me to his truck. I stayed curled up in a ball to keep from getting all my nasty on his seats. This whole time I am sobbing and telling him he will never have to look at me again. John is laughing, convincing me that its fine.
When he parked in the parking lot, I told him bye and scrambled to get out of the truck. Once inside my residence I washed up and had a shower. I crawled into bed and slept when there was a tap on my apartment door.
John pressed his way in and gave me a kiss. "I started home, I determined not to let the night to finish like that. I turned back," John declared between kisses. I was dumb and one event moved to another. It was not intense, tender, or anything as I wished. It was drunk, awkward, and terrible. When it was done, I desired another shower. John disappeared, and I refused to text him back. I noticed no connection with him.
Want to learn the crappy thing? I confirmed positive for an STI two weeks afterward. I quit feeling so awful about the mess I made on him after the test results. I never met to him again. I declined calls from his number and deleted his text messages without even viewing them. #MyWorstDate