As I’ve made perfectly clear across numerous posts, I historically don’t have any sort of
notable success with the ladies. Now,
for this particular story I’m going to take you back several years to a time in
which I had a questionable level of success that turned into one of the most uncomfortable
nights of my life. I’m sure it was a
pretty uncomfortable situation for her too, but this is my blog so this is
about me; if she wants to talk about how uncomfortable she felt she can make
her own blog.
As I said, this
all takes place several years ago. The
story starts while I’m at college, sitting at a table in one of the public
areas between classes. A girl that I had
never seen before in my life walks up and asks if she can sit at the table with
me because all the other seats are taken.
I happily oblige and we strike up a small conversation. Surprisingly, I must have made a not-awful
first impression because this ended becoming a regular meeting time and place
for us for the next few weeks (Hooray, I'm sociable!). At this point in
my life, I was still living at home and I’d have friends over every Friday
night for a party. There’d be cards,
drinking, music and all kinds of chicanery that realistically made me wonder
why my dad never kicked me out of the house, but whatever. After several weeks of a budding friendship
with this girl I invited her to one of my Friday night parties because I am all
about helping people have fun and one of the best ways to have fun is to watch
my friends and I make complete drunken fools of ourselves. She accepted the invite and came to the next
party to delight in the kind of raucous tomfoolery one can expect of a
handful of 21 year-old morons.
The night went
well; in fact it was going much better than I had anticipated. This girl (against all logic) seemed to have some sort of infatuation
with me, as she spent the entire night nearly glued to my side and on occasion
hanging all over me. I was personally
quite impressed with myself at having apparently fooled this girl into thinking
that I wasn’t some sort of massive, unappealing spaz, but I kept my mouth shut
and went with it. Eventually, there was
some kissing and canoodling that occurred and the two of us kind of tuned out
any other people in the room. The party
dwindled down until it was just her and I. Naturally, at this point I'm still doing a fair bit of patting myself on the back for whatever the hell I did to get her interested. I was midway through one of my inner-voice "Atta boy!" moments when she pulled back from kissing me, looked me straight in the eye
and said absolutely deadpan, “We can’t have sex. I have
chlamydia.”
I’m sure there are
several ways I could have reacted to this revelation. I’m also equally sure none of them involved me
not being completely uncomfortable and wanting to run the hell away. Let’s get a few things straight here. First of all, I never assumed there was any
sex to be had because I am not a presumptuous person and I also have absolutely
no faith in myself to woo women and/or not screw up any given situation no matter how promising it looks.
Secondly, I am totally grateful that she decided it important not to
infect me with chlamydia. Thirdly, there
are so many countless ways that she could have gotten out of that situation
without outright saying, “By the way, I’ve got rotten-crotch. Thought you should know.” She could have said she wasn’t ready, it was
that time of the month, she had eaten some bad Mexican and was worried about
shitting herself, etc. Instead, what she
chose to tell me was exactly how and who she had contracted chlamydia from,
which is something that I neither needed nor cared to know. Seriously, holy shit, sometimes less is more. And come on, chlamydia is fucking curable; why are you just chilling out with that stuff?! Get some anti-biotics, stay home for a week while they work their magic and then go out and get your party on without having to worry about it burning when you pee. For fuck's sake.
Ultimately, my
reaction was to tell her that I was “awfully *yawn* tired” so she should probably let
herself out because I was going to bed.
As soon as she was gone, I proceeded to disinfect everything in the
house; and I do mean EVERYTHING. At a
certain point (around 4:30 in the morning) I was even wiping down my computer mouse with a Clorox wipe because
she had used my computer to play a song.
Listen, I paid attention in health class so I know I wasn’t going to get
chlamydia from her touching my computer mouse but sometimes it’s important to
err on the side of neurotic caution.
"Shit, I was kissing her. Better scrub my lips with these things, too."
The next morning,
I called my buddy DΓΌdders and
told him to meet me for lunch because we needed to have a manscussion (that’s a
discussion between men). He immediately
assumed I was going to tell him that I hooked up with that girl. When I told him what actually happened, his
jaw dropped to about 3 inches from the floor at which point I told him that he
needed to get his shit together because as speechless as he was at that moment,
he was still hearing it second-hand and I actually had to react to it in the
moment as it was happening; which was fucking awful. And I wish to reiterate that sentiment to
anyone reading this: if you were in any way taken aback by the bombshell she
dropped on me, I want you to imagine how much worse it was for me when it
actually happened. Now shower me with
pity (pity can take the form of money, just fyi).
I didn’t really
talk to her much after that. She would
occasionally message me wondering why I had become so distant and I made up some
excuses so I didn’t have to outright tell her that I didn’t stop showering for
2 weeks after that night and that I was still thoroughly unimpressed with her
telling of “The Dude And/Or Dudes That Gave Me Chlamydia.”
As for me, I still
am and always have been completely free of any sexually transmitted
diseases. Ladies?
-Ryan
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