I still blame it on my cousin.
I was a junior (?) in high school, she was a big shot in college. She came home for the holidays, but being away from her boyfriend for that long was just too much to bare. He didn’t live too far away, so Brittney had the great idea of putting together a double date. So she got to see her beau, and I got to go on a blind date. Woohoo for me. With a college guy. Double woohoo for me. But before meeting up on our date we thought an afternoon shopping trip was in order. And before our shopping trip, we grabbed a quick bite to eat. Taco Bell. (Seriously, my fave.) But that proved to be my downfall.
Towards the end of our shopping, I started not feeling so hot. We went by a gas station where I picked up some medicine, but it didn’t do much. I couldn’t call off the date, though. Brittney was so looking forward to this. So I just sucked it up. We went to dinner at a deliciously greasy hamburger place. Let’s just say I was not the best first date. I could hardly talk because I was feeling so sick. Halfway through my corn dog I quickly excused myself from the table. I briskly walked to the front of the restaurant looking for the bathroom. But my body couldn’t wait. Right in front of the registers I threw up. I caught as much as I could in my hands as I ran into the bathroom. (I told you this was bad.) Sitting over the public restroom toilet I felt horrible. And after a few minutes of that I went back to my date. Like NOTHING HAPPENED.
We were going to go to some comedy club after dinner, but it didn’t start for a while, so we decided to stop by the mall to walk around. Oh, but fresh snow had just fallen. And the parking lot was empty. So Brittney’s completely unsuspecting boyfriend started doing donuts. Over. And over. And over. By the time we walked into the mall, that was empty and about to close, I was beside myself sick. We were walking by the food court, floor freshly mopped, chairs all put up, when I made a mad dash for the bathroom without saying a word. But I wasn’t fast enough. I started throwing up again. Right in front of everybody–including my date. My hands instinctively went up to my mouth, but there was no containing it. All down the front (and down the sleeves) of my white sweater, and a trail going into the bathroom. After sitting on the floor of yet another public restroom for about 15 minutes, the contents of my stomach was officially emptied. And I felt SO MUCH BETTER! Until I looked in the mirror. I tried to wash my sweater in the sink, and dry it under the hand dryer, but it wasn’t happening. A nice employee at the local Wienerschnitzel brought me a plastic bag, some mints, and some strong smelling lotion. My sweater went into the bag, and the shirt I had underneath went on backwards. (The front was still covered in you-know-what.) And I took a deep breath, held my head high, and walked out to my date. (What else was I supposed to do?) I saw the janitors re-mopping the floor. I felt terrible, and was SO mortified.
But honestly, once it was all out I felt great. Unfortunately, my date had a really queezy stomach, and couldn’t stand being near me. Once we got in the car he sat at one side with his head pressed up to the window, and I sat on the other, having great conversation with my cousin and her date in the front seat. We didn’t end up going to the comedy club after that. And, unfortunately, there was no second date.
+ - 4 comments
Nate - Correction!…Fortunately there was no second date.
Linda - It is good you put that in writing. Your posterity will want to know.
Marcy - In the spirit of divulging:
One of my worst dates ever could be summed up as starting at a church dance where the guys car wouldn’t start so he made me push it so that he could pop the clutch. After that was successful we drove 30 minutes to a park to roast marshmallows. On the way there the guys runs a red light in a busy intersection without even realizing it while I held on for dear life. Then the guy can’t find the park so we pull over and start a charcoal fire in the street while cars are driving by and until a cop pulls up checks our IDs and tell us to get lost…lucky no tickets were issued. Finally, the guy takes me home but doesn’t even get out of the car to open my door or walk me to the front step. Needless to say, there wasn’t another date after that.
I like this subject, hope others will share too.
Cammie - Hahaha, I remember you telling me about this. Too funny.
When me and Tim had only been dating for a month, I threw up at his house and got some on my shirt, so we had to put it in his washer and I wore his sweat shirt, and I stayed there. I don’t know what was wrong with me, why didn’t I go home! I was also terrified that Tim was never going to call me again because he had told me all these crazy stories about stupid reasons why he broke up with girls and throwing up at his house was way worse then most of them (he also has a very queesy stomach). But lucky for me, that was the night he realized he loved me because he actually still wanted to see me again, even after he just watched me throw up.