I’ve been blown off plenty of times, but here’s the worst one:
We met at a college dance (god, but I’m a dork). Danced together, flirted, and then didn’t see each other again for like a month. I was totally crushifying on her, absurdly so, kicking myself for not asking for her number at the dance.
We saw each other again about a month later, danced, went out for coffee, started getting together for sweet dately things. She was hard-core Mormon and (I thought) hard-core abstinence, so I was all gentlemanly and stuff; our dates were things like making pizza, going for walks, going to plays, that sort of thing.
She told me about this goober in a class of hers who kept annoyingly, simperingly hitting on her, and how much it annoyed her. We laughed about him.
One time, when we were getting together to go see a band or something, she asked if I wanted to go to a rave instead. Huh? I said. Sure.
So we got together with the other folks, one of whom looked awful gooberlike. She and I spent the first part of the evening, arm-in-arm; but by three in the morning, she was sprawled out in his lap.
Me, not getting the point, invited her over once more, to watch a movie. She brought the goober along and lay in his lap during the whole movie.
Ick, ick, ick. Had she just said, “The goober’s won my heart,” that woulda been okay. But this was extra-special slimy.
Man, I hated my college years.
Daniel