Let me preface this by saying I am not usually regretful. If I do something “slutty” at night, 75% of the time I’ll wake up feeling happy, sexy and satisfied. This particular night was not the case, however.
I was wearing a really adorable outfit that I finally had the money to splurge on. It was a red mini skirt, fishnets, heels and a cute top. I was feeling really sassy. I’m an Aries so apparently my signature color should be red, and because of that I choose to rock red when I’m feeling especially bitchy…like girl-fight bitchy. I have a pair of red pants that I incidentally call my sassy pants – but I digress. The short version? I went downtown to drink and I was feeling sassy. My outfit would have been, like, totes cramped with a purse so I grabbed my wallet/clutch thing and phone and headed downtown.
After a few hours of bar hopping I was A) drunk and B) sick of holding my stuff. My best friend and at-the-time roommate, Jordan, had been carrying a cross body bag so I nonchalantly threw my stuff in there assuming that we wouldn’t get split up and, at the very least, we would both end up back at home. You know what happens when you assume? BAD THINGS HAPPEN, OKAY!!!
I got lost. I’m not afraid to admit it. I, for some reason, left the bar and couldn’t remember which bar I had left. The problem was that it was one of my first times at the bar scene in my town and there are two bars next to each other that are fairly similar. I walked all around the first bar and couldn’t find my friends. I assumed they went home or went to a different bar. I walked outside once more looking distressed when a short, red-haired boy approached me.
This is the conversation as I remember it:
“You look distressed.” – Redhead
“Uh. I lost my friends, and I don’t have my phone, or wallet and I think they’re in “The Rail” but I don’t have my wallet to pay a cover to get in. So yeah. I’m a little upset.” – Me
“Well. I’ll pay your cover if you come home with me tonight.” – Redhead, now also an asshole
Before you get all judgy. No I did not go home with a guy so he could pay my cover into the bar. That is technically prostitution and I’m so not okay with that. In fact, I was so offended by the accusation that I went off. Poor guy never even saw me coming. It looked like a domestic dispute. I called him a chauvinistic douche bag, a no-souled ginger and every other name in the book. I was pissed the heck off. How dare he insinuate I was easy because of the way I was dressed!? HELL TO THE NO, GINGER BOY. I am a hard-to-get piece of ass and you’d be damn lucky to be in the same vicinity as me, let alone in my bed.
While I screamed at him, he laughed. I was infuriated. I was so mad I was literally seeing red. I could barely speak. Suddenly I feel a kind hand on my shoulder, it was a girl offering me a ride home. Huzzah! Salvation! I was saved, except she knew this ginger boy that was bothering me so and said she had to give him a ride home too. She dropped me off first and I was standing at my door with my belongings for five minutes before I realized I didn’t have a key.
Luckily, it was summer, and I know how to jimmy my front window open. Unluckily, I was too intoxicated to really figure it out. Like a knight in shining armor, Ginger Boy jumped to my rescue and helped me open the window to freedom, and my own bed. Apparently Ginger Boy came with me, and apparently I decided I liked him now.
We were making out in my bed, and then making out in the shower and when I looked down at his hand. He was missing his pinkie finger. He said it was shot off during friendly fire in the military. I thanked him for our service but I just couldn’t get over it. I fell asleep.
It took him literally six hours to leave the next morning. He told me he was really falling for me, and I was so funny when I was mad and he wanted to hang out ALL DAY. I finally had to feign an auto emergency to get him to go home. The whole thing was so awkward. My roommates got home to find him on the couch and I sat there waiting for him to introduce himself because I actually didn’t even know his name. I still don’t. He texts me ALL THE TIME still, and is in my phone as “4 fingers”. So there’s that.
Do you guys have a hookup horror story? Share below!!