Not a Nice Girl

I am so glad I finally found someone to put up with my shenanigans for the rest of our lives.

You know why?

Because it means I don’t have to date anymore.

Seriously. I’ve been on some horrific dates.  There was the one guy who smacked me so hard it left a welted hand print on my butt. This occurred approximately 5 minutes into our first date.  Then there was the guy who took me to Wal-mart and had the nerve to tell me I needed to “work on my style.”  Of course I can’t forget the guy who took me dancing, only to have a beer thrown on me by his fiance whom I of course knew nothing about.

But the worst, by far, was the guy who drooled on me.

I wish I was kidding.

We went to see a movie.  It wasn’t the first time we had gone out, and he seemed like a really sweet guy.  I was excited.  Even though we were going to be sitting in a dark theater for two hours, I spent extra time on my hair and make-up.  Wore my cutest dress and all that jazz.

I purposely picked a scary movie so there would be an excuse to grab on to him in my state of “terror.”  I was so stupid then.  Remind me to write a letter berating my younger self.

Anyhow, once we sat down he immediately reached for my hand.  Butterflies, silly giggles, blah, blah, barf.  Towards the middle of the movie I pretended to be scared out of my head and wrapped myself around his arm, putting my head on his shoulder.  He leaned his head over to rest on mine.  It was bliss.  Nice guy, not handsy, still cute when the lights were on.  What’s not to like?

And then it happened.  Warm, wet, sloppy drool…right on my expertly blushed cheek.

I still cringe when I think about it.

At first I didn’t know what it was.  I wiped it away, looked at my hand, looked at the ceiling.  Surely it was leaking.  And then I heard the slurp.  You know the slurp.  Like when a baby is crying and slurps up tears and snot and drool?

Yeah.

I stared at him in genuine horror this time.  Touched my cheek again.  My mind couldn’t comprehend the level of repulsion I was feeling. I was afraid my eyeballs were going to actually pop out of my head and roll around on the floor.  He drooled on me!   He.  DROOLED. On me.

He wasn’t asleep.  He wasn’t sick and having to mouth breathe.  We were not eating delicious, mouth-watering cuisine.  I could maybe understand that.  MAYBE.

He kept a straight face, but it was the face of someone who just farted in a crowded elevator.

I literally could not form words, I was so shocked.  I just got up and walked out, praying he would just let me go.  I had never dealt with such a level of awkward, and I was not eager to prolong the situation.

Of course he followed me and asked where I was going.  I turned to give him my most impressive “Are You INSANE?” look.  He just shrugged his shoulders as if he was genuinely confused.

“You drooled  on me.  Drool came out of you mouth and landed on my cheek.  And not just a little drool.  We’re talking a St. Bernard level of drool.”

He just shrugged his shoulders again and said, “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.  Everyone does it.  And here I was thinking you were a really nice girl.”

I stood there with my mouth hanging open long enough that I feared I might drool myself, and he finally just walked away.

What is wrong with people?

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