This Incident/Accident actually happened a few weeks ago. After I called up V, and described to her the debacle that is my life, she declared that "the story is effing awesome and needs to be out in the blog world ASAP." Sooo, the ASAP lasted a bit longer than expected. I blame the Germans.
If you are a faithful reader, you are well aware of my propensity for spectacular falls. If you're a new reader, well , consider yourself informed. I fall spectacularly.
Cue backstory: I had decided to schedule three dates within the span of seven days. I know, it sounds bad. But I had a few precious days to myself and for some reason I had it in my head that I needed to cram dating in before certain things in my life took over again. Plus, dating also gives me the opportunity to create fun nicknames like Perfect Stubble Guy in order to amuse all of you. And really, what's the point of remembering their names? They're never around long anyway. Yeah, I know, really not painting myself in a good light here.
So this my blogger friends, is the story of date number 3- The Double-Date...
Running incredibly late for the aforementioned date, I raced up the steps with my laptop slung over one shoulder and my gym bag over the other. In my haste I caught the end of the step with my toe and went sprawling on my kitchen floor. When my vision returned to normal after clocking my head hard against the door, I stood up on bloody, scratched knees and realized the strap to my new, sexy black shoes had snapped. Growling something under my breath, knowing my friend would be here any minute, I staggered- on one shoe- to the cabinet. Jerking the door open, I rummaged and found the tube of super glue that was cleverly hidden behind a copy of Game Informer magazine and a package of light bulbs.
I popped the cap, squeezed the tube, and super glue squirts all over my hands, arms, and the offending shoe I was attempting to fix. So of course my thumb sticks to the strap and I have to yank it hard, which tears off a portion of my skin. By now the glue has dried on my arms, leaving a trail of crusty white sticky stuff all over my arms. I run to the sink and attempt to use the Brillo pad to scrape the glue from my skin. This just makes it worse because now, not only is my skin red and raw, but the remaining white crap is still flaking off of me.
Of course my friend chose this moment to ring my doorbell so I have about three seconds to wipe my knees, brush a comb through my disheveled red hair, straighten my skirt, and slip into my stupid shoe. Still in a bit of pain after my ridiculous fall, I climb gingerly into her car and she tells me that this date is the exact thing I need- as if I hadn’t had two others in the past 7 days- and how this guy is so nice…blah…blah…blah… it’ll take my mind of things…blah…blah…blah.
When we get to the restaurant, I proceeded to have a double-date with pretty much two of the best-looking men I had ever seen. The type of good-looking that makes you wonder why the hell they are walking around among us mere mortals. And the kicker? My date was a complete and utter gentleman. Like standing every time I got up to go to the bathroom complete gentleman.
Which was probably about three or four times since my skin was itching and I thought I was still bleeding. The whole time I kept thinking, this guy totally thinks I’m snorting cocaine.
So at the end of the date there I was bruised, still battered, with crusty white stuff flaking off the length of my arms, staring into the deep chocolate eyes of a man whose previous job included going to clubs, flashing those dimples, and getting paid to look hot.
And I am left with the question, what in gods name made him ask for my number?