Sex & the Single Woman: My Worst Hook-Up
The other day we were talking about bad dates. But I forgot to mention bad hook-ups. Mine’s a doozy.
A few years ago I was at a club celebrating a friend’s birthday. I met a guy right off the bat, and throughout the night we’d find each other, flirt, and kiss. He did seem to get progressively drunker each time I saw him, but, well, I’m sure I did too.
About a half hour before closing time, I caught up with him. He grabbed me and looked me dead-straight in the eye.
“I love you,” he slurred.
Thinking my best approach was to laugh it off and do a “Wayne’s World”-style “I love you too man,” I chuckled and tried to change the subject. But he held his grip and kept staring at me. “No—I really love you.”
Two thoughts flew into my mind.
1) What a weirdo.
2) Aww…he loves me!
Two minutes later he excused himself. He walked over to a row of (thank God!) empty banquettes, undid his fly, and—I kid you not—peed. I watched in horror as this yellow arc of urine hit these swanky banquettes. Once I had collected myself, I raced over to stop him before someone noticed that he had mistaken their booth for a urinal. But he was so drunk that I couldn’t reason with him, and, not wanting a reputation as the girl who hangs out with pee bandits, I fled the scene.
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