I had been emailing a guy that found me on a dating site. His emails were lengthy, a little drab, but nice overall, so when he told me to meet him for a drink after work one day, I did. I probably would have gone even if he had asked or invited me (vs. demanded – which I find irresistible) because I remember being particularly bored that day. (I had, in fact, left work for several hours, took a nap by the pool, and drove to the mall where I sat in the parking lot without going in, before ending up back at work because I literally felt like doing nothing, and knew I’d at least get paid if I were doing nothing while sitting at my desk.)

So I meet the guy at a local pub, where I immediately notice his fabulous facial hair. (I am a sucker for good facial hair.) We sit outside, order a few beers and appetizers, and dive in to what actually turns out to be a fun evening. He’s sarcastic – which I love – sprinkled with barely audible sexual innuendos – which I also love. He’s witty, tells a great story, and he’s totally into me. I know this, because he tells me how into me he really is, in so many words. It’s a huge ego boost, and an even bigger turn on. (Granted, it’s been a week since I’ve had sex, so turning me on is not such a feat right now.)

A few hours go by, a few beers go down, and I’m enjoying myself enough to not want the evening to end just yet. I mean, I’d been bored ALL DAY – why would I put an end to the entertainment I’d been craving so hard? So we kiss in my car…and it’s not great. (You know how people have a taste? I mean, we have our own scent; it’s my personal belief that we each have our own taste, too.) Anyway. His is not good. He’s also not a very good kisser. Regardless – another round of drinks at another bar and I think I’ve had enough alcohol for the bad taste and poor technique to not be so bothersome, and I take him home. (Yes, I had told him that I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Multiple times. I mean, I told him multiple times – not that I wouldn’t….oh, fuck it.)

At my place, we make out on the couch on my balcony. (Side note: I’d been trying to have sex on that balcony all summer long. There’s something about the fact that people could see us in the daylight, if they knew what they were looking for, that I find indescribably hot.) The making out is still not great, but he’s hard and I’m in control, so why not just put the poor guy out of his misery and let him in, right? It’s the polite thing to do, really.

The sex….is also not great. I mean, how can I even try to enjoy it when the moment he’s in, he begins apologizing for his, well, shortcomings?? He didn’t have any qualms about going down, though, and these were the (several) highlights of the evening.

Regardless. There comes a time when a girl just gets too tired to keep faking it. And when that time comes for THIS girl, all she wants to do is say goodnight, roll onto her stomach, and sleep. This guy, however, had other plans. Plans that included spooning. And cuddling. And, apparently, snoring directly into my left ear.

This is a good place to say that although my DVD collection consists mostly of RomComs, I’m not big on things like cuddling. I’ve been told by several friends, on more than one occasion, that I approach most things like a guy would – not the least of which being relationships and the intimate aspects thereof. Most guys aren’t big cuddlers, and neither am I.

“Do I have to go?” he asks.

“Weeeeeeellllllll, I mean, I don’t sleep well with someone else in my bed. And I do have to work in the morning.” (Both statements – 100% true.)

I thought this would be a clear enough indication that I wanted his ass outta my bed. I was wrong.

He decided to interpret my indirect “please go home” as more of an “it’s ok if you stay”. (In retrospect, this is my own damn fault….but my inability to be completely candid with men that I don’t particularly like is best saved for another day.) Anyway, he stayed. All night. And the cuddling, while warm, was not conducive to sleeping. (Neither, mind you, was the snoring.) I am fairly certain that I drifted in and out of consciousness though, because there are snippets of conversation in my head that I could NOT have possibly made up. I’m pretty sure at one point I scolded him for lying in the middle of my queen-sized bed. I mean, c’mon…who does that?!

Around 4am, he tries to pull me into another suffocating cuddle. “Dude….don’t touch me. I think I’m going to vomit.”

Nervous laughter…”No, don’t do that!”

“No, seriously….I’m gonna puke.” And puke I did, though not before I made it to the bathroom.

Over the next 3 hours, I puke several times. (I blame the mussels I ate at the pub. In fact….I could probably blame most of what happened post-pub on the mussels. Damn aphrodisiacal properties….) As I climb back into bed after each episode, sweating and feeling super gross, he tries to cuddle. Or comfort me. At one point he even tries to KISS me:

“Babe, I just PUKED”, pushing him away.

“Yeah, but you brushed your teeth.”

…..

Really??

Also, why are you still here?!?

Sometime after 7am he realizes that he’s gonna be late for work if he doesn’t get up and go. He uses my shower, and I cringe thinking about how badly my bathroom must reek, before I remember that I lit a candle a while ago and fall asleep, having my bed to myself again.

Before he leaves, he kneels next to my bed. “I had a really great time last night. I hope that – ”

“I’m sorry,” cutting him off. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now. I’m gonna puke again…”

On my way to the bathroom I hear him chuckling, “If there’s one thing I love about you, it’s that you’re to the point.”

He was gone when I came out of the bathroom.

A few days later, I’m out shopping with my mom when he texts me. Naturally, my mom perks up when I tell her about this guy, omitting the coitus. “Are you going to see him again?” (Although she’ll never say it to my face, I’m convinced that my mother is desperate to marry me off. She’d swear that it’s just because she doesn’t like seeing me alone, but the end result is the same.)

“Ummmm, I don’t think so…” My mother does not need to know the details of our date.

“I think you should give him another chance.” She would not say this if she knew about our copulation.

“Mom, I’d only go out with him again if I were extremely bored.”

“You know that’s how I ended up with your father, right?”

Pause. “What??”

“Yeah. After our first date, I didn’t want to see him again. But about a week later, I was really bored and called him. The rest is history.”

So THIS is where I get this shit from. Honestly….