I have so many love fails I wouldn’t know where to begin if I had to organize them before telling them. Should I rank them on how epic the failures were? Chronologically? Randomly as the story comes up in my life? Yes, I’ve chosen the third option because it doesn’t require a timeline or a mathematical ranking system.
So, once upon a time, I had crush on a boy who claimed to have a crush on me as well. I went to another city (sans boy) for a weekend shortly after we started talking. Of course trip to said city involved drinking a pitcher of “the strongest thing we have on the menu” during lunch. Alone. (The waiter was proud. Sadly I was already smitten with said boy so I didn’t care.) Lunch was followed by shopping. I hate shopping. If I shop, I shop like a dude. I go for something specific. Once I find it, I leave. I’ve never been one who participates in a girls’ day of marathon shopping. But, I digress.
So, here we are, shopping. I think for stuff for my friend’s birthday celebration that night, but I’m not sure. In fact, at the time, I’m not sure I knew. I wandered around like a lost non-shopper in a mall of shoppers until I ambled into a store with someone else in our group. I found a flask that said, “LOVE.” And in my drunken state I was 1. Thinking of said boy in lusty ways and trying to find an excuse to drunk text him and 2. Not making clear judgments. These are by and far the best two things to come from alcohol, I think.
Anyway, I pick up the flask and I swear the sky opens up and shines on my face while the angels sing. Or, maybe it was the fluorescent lights seeming extra-bright because of my state of inebriation and bad mall music. I’m not sure. Anyway, the flask says “LOVE.” And I think this is it. This is my in to text the boy I want to drunkenly fondle…. I buy the flask and send him a text that says, “Just bought a flask. If I fill it up with vodka when I get back, will you help me empty it?” Vodka’s his drink of choice, not mine. Primarily because I don’t have a drink of non-choice. I like it all.
He doesn’t respond.
Should have been sign he was bad news. In fact, he’d ONLY call and text me when he was drunk. And way later that night he does call. Hammered. Again, should have been a sign. But he tells me the request to drink vodka was overwhelming because I’d never done anything like that before. Apparently it was too forward. He tells me this mere moments after asking me what I’m wearing. Really?
Sadly, much like the all the stories of my love life, this wasn’t enough to kick the dude to the curb. I took the relationship down in flames. It’s sort of my style.
Since, said Flask of Doom has caused more grief than happiness. I tried to take it to a St. Patty’s celebration, and lost the booze to put in the flask before the flask was filled. And just this weekend I filled it with whiskey to go sledding, only to injure myself dangerously close to my lady bits. I’m ready to pass the flask onto the next owner. Maybe it will bring better luck.
The Flask of Doom – Looks nice enough but only brings bad things. Much like the men in my life.