Love Is a Bloody, Bloody Battlefield, My Friends

May 01, 2008

Oh, imagine.

Imagine that you are me. You are heading out on your date with the 25-year-old. You have called Neeta, who has told you NO, you cannot wear your free-flowing top with your wide-legged trousers because, damn, Jen, boys have imagination but not x-ray vision and you are always trying to wear something ridiculously modest but an ankle isn't enough to get the curiosity sparked these days, so here you are in a vaguely slinky top and the wide-legged trousers and new shoes.

And you have given said young 'un directions to pick you up, but either he has not listened (typical. ugh, boys), or you have given horrible directions (typical. ugh, girls.), so now you are walking down to meet him at the corner to save time.

Only.

Your shoes are new. And the hill is steep. And your feet slip out from under you and you fall.

But! You rally, you get up, quickly, because the dude who had to STOP HIS CAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET TO AVOID RUNNING OVER YOUR PRONE BODY appears to be stuck in this loop of "areyouokaycanicallsomeone? areyouokaycanicallsomeone? areyouokaycanicallsomeone?" and, well, why not help a brother out.

So you haul yourself up, now you won't be at the corner in time and he'll be halfway to Timbuktu, must hurry, hurry, and...

PHFWOOMP!

Down you go again. This time with your tailbone right on the 90-degree angle of the curb, the AWESOMENESS, I cannot tell thee.

What would you do?

I paused briefly, winded, probably kind of in shock, and told the occupant of the OTHER CAR THAT STOPPED TO MAKE SURE I WAS ALIVE that I was fine and considered throwing in the towel. A quick phone call and I'd be nursing my patootie on ice for the rest of the evening and he never even had to know I had a cold sore (yes, despite all your lovely best wishes, it was still there).

But I didn't. I hobbled down to the corner, bleeding all over my blackberry, which I had to retrieve from down the hill, and there he was.

And he stopped at the pizza place and got me some napkins for the blood, and I had a glass of wine and things were OK.

And when I got home and saw the ginormous dried streak of blood on my blackberry?

Part of me was utterly grossed out, yes, but the other part of me?

Totally proud of my war wounds, dude! Seriously, it's like I have conquered Spain!

Dating's a rough-and-tumble world, my friends. You've got to roll with the punches. And right down the hill. Apparently.

Posted by jen at 10:53 PM | Comments (17)