Okay kids, I gonna take you back to the ghosts of dates past...
I met Jamie through a friend of a friend and we hit it off from the very moment we met. He was tall, dark and handsome and really into me. Before we left the party, he asked if I wanted to see him again, of course I said yes and gave him my number so we could set a time and place for our next encounter. When he called me the next day, I was shocked to say the least because of his impeccable timing. Usually guys can take up to 10 days to give you a call back, this was not the case this time. So we talked for a few hours a day for a few days till we finally felt a bit more confident in where our first date should be. Because I have never went to a casino in my life, he felt it appropriate to take me to one. I was ecstatic, my first time gambling and first date with a new guy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was going to be a lot of firsts on so many levels by the dates end....
Now here's when I knew I should have run the other way because this was not going to end well, but alas, I did not listen to my Jiminy Cricket and trotted forward. I spent some serious dough on casino approved attire, you know, low-cut silk top, gently snug dress capri pants, a plunging necklace to showcase the goods and an outstanding and slightly uncomfortable 3 1/2 inch pair of heels. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but Honk! Honk! I looked good, I felt good, and I was doing good. We met in a neutral location, and in he walked with a cutoff t-shirt which read “Mmmmmm Now that's tasty!”, a pair of too-tight-at-the-waist-too-short-on-the-legs-and-too-ugly-to-be-shown-in-public jean shorts and he took the next step and rocked a pair of Moses sandals. Looking very much like a reject from a bad 80's country video. I rolled my eyes as he tells me that he feels a bit under dressed. Together we leave for the casino. Our conversation seemed to go easily with the flow, and not at all stressed or strained, which made the 45 minute ride seem like only minutes.
We arrived at the casino ready to make out mark. He showed me the ropes, which tables were hot, which slots were the best, and which bars to hang out in. I was loving it! The atmosphere was incredible, the people were fun and the date was going surprisingly well. He asked if I wanted to go out for a bite to eat, and he knew just the spot. Now, I want you to remember, I spent 2 hours on my hair people. It was absolutely gorgeous! Beautifully placed soft curls donned my head like a halo. I even had women stop me to ask where I had my hair done. So as we stepped out on the city street, humidity filled my nostrils and infused my naturally curly hair. Not even 15 minutes out in the muggy atmosphere, I could feel my hair growing with every second we were out there. By the time we reach the restaurant (only a short 30 feet away), we walk in and I am sweating so severely that the beads of sweat is doing Kamikazes off my forehead. Trying not to draw any more unwanted attention, I excuse myself to the bathroom only to find that this particular bathroom does not have ANY paper towels to speak of! One stall, has approximately 10 sheets of 2-ply toilet paper and the other was entirely out. My only saving grace was the hand blow dryer on the wall, which conveniently for me did NOT have a turn-able handle. As I am finding the most uncomfortable position to dry my most sweaty body parts, an older woman walks in finding it most difficult to get into the stall without shooting me an I-can't-believe-she's-doing-that look. After ten minutes of attempting to dry myself off, I now find that the air that is blowing out of the dryer is and always was hot air, resulting in more sweating. Disgusted with myself and the damn blow dryer, I begin to sway back and forth as if an imaginary shark had gotten a hold of my legs in an imaginary shark tank.
It didn't quite to the trick but I was cool enough to venture back to our table, still embarrassed. He looked up and smiles, asking if everything was okay. I nodded, quietly sat down and grabbed the nearest menu to shove in front of my face, due to the fact that my face was more shiny than a newly polished bowling ball. I maintained a 15 minute conversation hiding behind my menu when he asked if I was ready to order. I nodded and told him what to order for me. Confused, he then asked if anything was wrong. Not wanting to let him in on the embarrassing plight, I informed him that I loved the detail the restaurant put into the menus and wanted to study them a little longer. He wasn't convinced. He reached across the table and snatched the menu away, instantaneously I threw my hands in front of my face. Mortified, I told him that I was a hot, sweaty mess, and didn't want him to see my face. He reached out to grab my hands away from my face and told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my face and to stop worrying about it. Slightly less embarrassed, I put my hands down and we shared more embarrassing stories to lessen my worry. After enjoying dinner and a few drinks, we were ready to continue our date.
After returning to the casino, we decided to hit the slot machines. As the most gentlemanly of gentlemen, he gave me money to gamble with. We jumped from slot machine to slot machine, enjoying each others company whether we were winning or losing, we had fun. Minutes turned into hours and the conversations seemed to flow effortlessly between us. Neither of us had won any money, but that didn't matter at all to us. As long as we were having fun, that's what ultimately mattered.
We both decided to journey out to see the night life of the city. Hand in hand, we walked the streets of Greektown. Still laughing, enjoying each others' company and figuring out which bar we should experience next, we saw Hard Rock Cafe in the distance. Unanimously, we agreed to visit it. Stopping at a crosswalk, which only had a blinking yellow light, we determined it safe to cross. Still hand in hand, we began to gingerly cross the street. At first glance, the bus that was traveling that same street was moving at a slow rate, so we continued at our normal pace. All of a sudden, we heard the gears of the bus slip into high gear and it started barreling straight towards us. Jamie then grabbed my arm and told me to haul ass because the bus was going to hit us in a matter of seconds. Now, might I remind those of you who have NOT ran in heels, that it is not an easy task to uphold, let alone running for your life in heels. Within a matter of nanoseconds, the heel of my shoe became stuck in the manhole in the middle of the street. Instead of my shoe falling off my foot like you would see in any movie known to man, my shoe stayed very much glued to my foot. It was my face that became glued to the pavement. Much like watching Joe Frasier falling down hard by a knock out from Ali, I fell that much harder. Immediately, he grabs my arm, yanks me upright and yells that the bus is going to hit us if we don't get the hell out of the way. Dazed, confused, and in extreme pain, I jump up and run alongside Jamie to safety. Our toes barely touch the curb when the bus whizzes by us at an alarming speed. I turn to my slightly disheveled date to see if he was alright, but to my surprise, the look on his face alarmed me as looked at me. His concern for me was much greater than I had expected. I thought he was just a very empathetic man, but I soon discovered that it wasn't his concern that was extreme, it was the injury to my face. In the bathroom of the Hard Rock Cafe, I literally saw two black eyes forming, my nose was now swollen to the size of Mr. Potato Heads' nose, and my lips had concrete burns all over them.
I knew that the embarrassment of my profuse sweating earlier would soon fade, but I never knew that it would fade so soon. Hobbling out of the bathroom, I couldn't help but grin ear to ear. Jamie couldn't even glance at me without having sincere concern behind his eyes. We sat in silence, contemplating whether or not our lives flashed before our eyes or if we were being Punk'd. After what seemed like hours, we then looked at each other, and began laughing uncontrollably and ordered a few drinks to shake off the pain. The bartender asked what was so funny, and when we told her she felt so sorry for me, that she bought our drinks for the remainder of the night. We left after our free drinks, and mutually decided it safe to leave for home. The ride home was filled with laughter of the nights events. As he dropped me off at my car, he asked if it was safe to ask me out for another date. I shrugged my shoulders, and told him nothing is ever safe when I'm around. We did have another date (which is gonna have to wait for another time to tell), and to this day I'm not quite sure if he asked me out a second time out of pity or if he was expecting another dinner and a show.
The moral of the story: Sometimes it is okay to miss the bus.
