Yes, I'm a Hussy

A different blog asked for submissions of the worst scheduling nightmare ever. I shared mine there, then thought I'd copy it here. Because I crave humiliation.

So here it is. This happened years ago. I am old now. The shame lingers.

As a recent college graduate, I was lovin’ life. Had my own apartment, a decent -albeit boring- job, a nice boyfriend. But there was this other guy. For me, this other guy was just a friend. I was up front with him and he understood that although I would go out with him on occasion, we were not dating. He said he was fine with that. Still, I knew he had a horrible, huge crush on me.

So one Tuesday evening my boyfriend arrives at the apartment at 7:00. We are just hanging out with my roommate and her boyfriend, playing cards and discussing where we want to go for dinner. I’m uneasy for some reason I can’t identify. The doorbell rings. 7:30. Suddenly my feelings of unease intensify and my stomach falls through the floor.

(Yeah, you see it don’t you? You know who is at the door.)

It is the other guy. No, he wasn’t there on the wrong night. I had set up two dates for the same night. Totally, 100% my fault.

I go to the door, open it one inch, and slither out (like the slimeball snot-covered slug that I was). With a cold sweat breaking through my deodorant and a face afire, I tell guy-friend that I have another date. Then I walk him to his car. And sit with him. While he CRIES.

This bit I didn't put in the other blog because it shows how truly shallow I was at the time.
It was all I could do to not tell this guy that his orange car clashed with his red hair and he should consider trading it for something green or blue. Hopefully I'm a bit more mature now. And as poetic justice would have it, my hair increasingly matches my silver car.