Valentine's Day Interrupted

I planned to spend Valentine’s Day alone, but was interrupted by an odd request, a mysterious phone call, and the cops.

So, you already know that my Valentine’s Day plans were supposed to include rarely worn lacy undies, the deliciously sexy Magic Mike, and me not having to make dinner reservations. Unfortunately, Magic Mike, for lack of a better term, "backed out".

Now, I like Valentine’s Day. I like all things love. But, seriously, for a single girl, trying to leave the house on Valentine’s Day is just a big old pain in the ass. Everyone is coupled up, everything is expensive, and every person gives you a nasty glare if you enter a place solo. My options were obvious, and I wasn’t angry about it. Valentine’s Day is my parents’ anniversary (aww), which means I’d have the house to myself, and it was snowing, so it was the perfect night to stay in. It would be just me, some beers, an entire pizza, Netflix, a clay mask, and the kitties. If that doesn’t say I love you, I don’t know what does.

The doorbell rang. Hello, pizza! I opened the door to an adorable delivery boy who looked like he was working his way through college.

“Uh, um. Hi,” he stammered, surprised as he looked up from the address on the receipt and met my eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, miss!” Yup, this girl’s still got it. Even in my state of hot messness.

“Thanks,” I smiled, “you too.” He was still looking up at me. That boy better not drop my damn pizza. I paid him and included a much larger tip than necessary – whatever, it was Valentine’s Day – and I slightly grazed his hand as I took the pizza box. Yes, it was intentionally. Then, I closed the door on his young smiling face. This could have easily turned into a porn, but I had a whole lot of nothing to get back to. Sorry, pizza guy.

So there I was, with my hair in a topknot, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and my yoga pants with the hole in the crotch, just chillin’ with my homies (aka: my cats). I’d eaten two corner slices of my Sicilian pie and had absolutely no intention of slowing down. As I scrolled through Netflix, I strategically sipped my beer through a straw – I had just applied a clay facemask and I didn’t want to risk getting muddied cucumber, avocado, and oatmeal on the mouth of the bottle. Then again, it might be like having breakfast and beer. This was the best Valentine’s Day in the history of single Valentine’s Days.

My phone rings.

Unknown number. Nope, not answering. I never pick up an unknown number. Although, there was that one time I decided to answer and ended up being in a movie with Richard Gere. But this was not that time.

A text message. Oh for the love… what now?! I look over. It’s my good friend, Sexually-Braver-Than-I.

“Hi! I hope you’re enjoying your pizza! NOW PICK UP YOUR PHONE!”

Well, I thought, that’s odd. Why was she calling me from an unknown number? And she’s out with her boyfriend, shouldn’t she be very busy right about now?

My phone rings again. Unknown. Sigh. Reluctantly, I pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey! What are you doing home alone on Valentine’s Day?!”

I recognized the voice immediately, and no, it was not Sexually-Braver. It was her boyfriend’s baby brother. She’d been trying to set us up for weeks and she must have gone ahead and given him my number, despite my continuous protests.

“Oh come on!” she’d argue, “He’s great!” “But he’s a baby!” I’d point out. Four years younger than me was an absolute no-no in my book. “Wait, what is it you always say?” she asks sarcastically. “Oh, right. You’re not trying to marry him!” I hate when she uses my own words against me. “But he’s got a kid. I’m not trying to be part of any baby mama drama.” “Oh stop it! Now YOU’RE being a baby. You’re both hot­ and you’re both single. I’m setting this up!”

And so she must have because now it’s Valentine’s Day and he’s on my phone. And I need to answer. And I’m going to kill her.

“Oh, I’m just hanging out with some beer and pizza,” I said to him trying to make it sound awesome (because it was). “On Valentine’s Day? No way. We’re going out. Let’s go have a drink,” he persisted. “But, it’s snowing. The roads don’t look so good.” Good one, that’ll certainly get him off my case. “That’s ok!” he protests, “I’ll come pick you up.” I tried to think of a quick reply, but as I went to open my mouth, I realized the mask was hardening and I could barely move my face. Maybe I could mumble??

“See?” He laughs, “Nothing to say! I’ll be there in 20 minutes! Bye!” And he’s gone.

But, but… shit.

It’s amazing that sometimes I can get completely ready in under 6 seconds and other times it takes me approximately 73 hours just to line one eye. I grumbled as I left my house, and yes, I was wearing THE boots. I opened the car door. Holy hell. Sexually-Braver was not kidding. He was hot. Real hot. Blonde and scruffy with blue eyes. He was a little tired since he had just flown in from a ski trip so he had that super relaxed thing going on. I noticed he had a cute smile as he leaned across the seat to open my door.

“Hey there, pretty lady! Happy Valentine’s Day!” I’m not going to lie, it was kind of cute that he insisted on kidnapping me on this night. I smiled to myself as I slid into the passenger seat and prayed that I didn’t have any clay mask stuck in my hair.

We knew any place decent would be stupid expensive or packed with gushing couples, so we landed at the diviest of dive bars. Shots were $2 and drinks were $4, all of which were sufficiently watered down to justify the cost. There were two beers on tap, Budweiser and PBR and those were $3.

Needless to say, we did damage. There was a lot of beer and there was more tequila. Surprisingly enough, we had a lot to talk about. We joked about our college sports careers, and how awesomely terrible it is to have to move back home with your parents.

The bartender poured more tequila.

He told me about still having to sneak girls into his house and I told him about trying to sneak out of mine in a mini skirt.

And more tequila.

He showed me pictures of his baby girl and we laughed about Magic Mike’s indecent proposal from earlier that day.

And still more tequila.

Then, stop, wait a minute. Bruno Mars came on. Uptown Funk. YEESSS! I screeched. YYYYEEEEEESSSSSS!

So, you might not know this, but I’m a singer in a divey cover band called, I Drank Tequila And Now I'm A Singer. Ever heard of it? I bet some of you are members. With my beer bottle as my mic, my young stud companion and I gave this song hell. We were so good it was like Bruno Mars and Mark Ronson were actually there live. No. Really. I swear. It must have at least been entertaining because someone decided to play it again on the jukebox and again, we were off!

FILL MY CUP, PUT SOME LIQUOR IN IT…

And what do you know? They did! Before I knew it, Young Stud and I were making out at the bar. No big deal, really, I was sure they’d seen worse. That suspicion was soon confirmed when the bartender took her shirt off for last call. Gotta bring in those last few tips, I guess, but that was a sure sign it was time to go.

We didn’t get very far. We started doing some serious making out in the car, yup, right in the parking lot. Classy, I know.

“Wait,” proclaimed the lead singer of I Drank Tequila, “We can’t stay in the parking lot. That’s just weird.” “Where do you want to go? We can’t go to either of our houses.” “I don’t know. Drive down the block or something.” Brilliant.

The solution was simple – pull over on the side of the road at 3am in a suburban neighborhood and attack each other like two rebellious high school students… one pushing 30 and the other with a child. It was foolproof, right?

I truthfully don’t think I’ve made out with someone like that in years. It was aggressive and loud. I definitely banged my head on something and had a mysterious black and blue on my elbow the next day. And just as I start thinking that maybe I should have worn those lacy undies after all, flood lights fill the car. I shield my eyes and look out the back window.

“Is that-“ “The cops. Put your shirt on.” I’m not wearing my shirt? I looked down. No, I was not, but I was still wearing my tank top. A girl has got to wear layers in February.

As I’m struggling to get my arm through an armhole that had clearly shrunk since I took it off, two cops approach the car, one on either side.

“Good evening, officer… sorry, officersssss. What seems to be the problem?” Yes, I actually said that. “License and registration, please, for both of you.” They scanned the back seat with a flashlight.

Then, sheer terror. Oh no. Ohhhhhhhh no! I didn’t know what town we were in. Were we in my home town? Were we in the next town over? My dad is an EMT and he’s buddies with all the local cops. He’s like the damn mayor! I can’t give them my license, it has my name AND my address on it! They would laugh the poor man out of town!

Read: My Dad The Wingman

“I’m sorry officer,” I started, “I don’t have my license on me.” Young Stud glared at me and I glared right back. “Do you have any form of identification on you, miss?” The officer asked. “Yes, I’m sure I do. Let me check.”

And do you know what I handed him? My teacher ID. Yes, the woman wearing an inside out and backward t-shirt while being questioned by the cops for making out in a car while parked on the side of the road was also shaping the youthful minds of America. It was a winning day for our country.

The cops left to run our information and I couldn’t help laughing. Could this day get any weirder? First I’m being asked to wear a strap-on and now I’m sure I’m about to get arrested.

One of the cops returned to the driver’s side and handed us back our IDs while asking what we were doing out at this time of night. As Young Stud tried to come up with a clever answer, I decided it was time to chime in.

Leaning across Young Stud’s lap, I waved at the poor guy standing in the cold. Trying to be sweet, “Excuse me, officer. Hi, down here. Hello! So, you wanted to know what we were doing. Listen – it’s 3am on Valentine’s Day and we both live with our parents. We had no place else to go to just have a little alone time.” I gave him my best “please don’t give me a ticket” eyes, although with this much tequila they could have been Cookie Monster googly eyes for all I know.

“Well,” he started, “I’m going to tell you to take your car home. But first I’m going to pull away and wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day.” I guess the cop has a soft spot for Cookie Monster.

Young Stud slumped down in his seat, relieved. “Cheer up, kiddo,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “When you’ve had your license for more than three years you too will learn to talk your way out of plenty of tickets.” He smiled at me and leaned in for another kiss, but was stopped by my hand. “Oh no, no.” I laughed. “Home.”

I had never been so happy to see my room, even if it was spinning for the whole next day. My Valentine’s Day definitely did not go according to plan, but I will tell you one thing – uptown funked me up.

<< The Interview

Too Much, Steve! >>

#missedchances #firstdate #thebad