On chivalry and broken bones

- I have to warn you, I've heard relationships
based on intense experiences never work.

- OK. We'll have to base it on sex then.

- Whatever you say, ma'am.

~ Speed

I'm a klutz. This is an established fact.

Born that way. Probably gonna die that way ... Literally.

The other day, I told someone that I was the only person I know who could end up in the Emergency Room on a date ... three times.

But, really, two of them were totally not my fault. And one of them was not even my injury, so I'm not sure it even counts ...

Disastrous Date #1

My best friend introduced me to a guy she went to high school with and he asked me out for a casual "bite to eat" kind of thing. First date, right? So, he acts the gentleman and comes around to open the car door for me ... and proceeds to slam my hand in his car door.

OhMyFuckingGawdThatHurt.

I ended up losing most of the nail on that thumb and still have a small scar to remember it by. But the highlight of the evening had to be when my date proceeded to FAINT at the sight of my bloody hand. Seriously. He made it about 10 steps away from the car before he went a little pale and pitched over - hitting his head on the glass doors of the restaurant.

So, I'm standing there holding my bloody hand and staring down at my date's still body, thinking, "Hmph. That's not good." and kind of hoping this isn't going to end up being my "How I Met Your Grandfather" story.

Fortunately, my date came-to rather quickly and was quite chivalrous about my wound. (You'd think he would have learned. I mean, chivalry was what got us into this mess in the first place.)

For the record, I didn't actually have to go to the ER that night. Because my roommate was well versed in first aid and he bandaged me up nicely. (He was all excited he got to use his mad medical skills. As long as I promised not to bleed on him. Dork.)

I went to my regular doctor the next day to make sure nothing was broken. All my little hand bones were okay, but I still was kind of handicapped for a while. Couldn't even manage the button on my pants.

Which was no big deal. 'Cuz there was no second date. ;)


Disastrous Date #2

This one did end in the ER, but I wasn't the injured party for a change.

I was working as a waitress* and I had a little crush on one of the sweet, hunky Bus Boys. So, when another co-worker invited a bunch of us over for a movie night, I thought, "Cool. A chance to get to know him outside of work."

I knew the rest of his family, too. So I wasn't surprised to see his (just as sweet) Older Brother there, and we all had a really nice night. At the end of the evening, I offered to play designated driver for two inebriated gal pals and the Sweet Brothers decided to walk us all out to my car.

As we were crossing the parking lot, a truck came roaring around the corner and almost ran me down. The driver swerved into a nearby parking spot, his passenger grabbed the 12-pack of Coors Light out of the bed of the truck, and they swaggered toward a nearby apartment.

Well, my chivalrous (are you seeing a pattern here?) Bus Boy took umbrage at my near-death experience and hollered something manly like "Slow down, you idiot."

And all hell broke loose.

The two drunks and two more of their friends from inside the apartment came out swinging for Bus Boy. Older Brother tried to break it up and he ended up getting knocked down and hitting his head - hard - on the curbing. The drunken idiots had enough sense to run off when they saw our friend bleeding on the sidewalk. But not too much sense - because they ran into their own apartment. Which I was happy to point out to the cops before following the ambulance with Older Brother to the ER.

He ended up with a concussion, poor guy. But, he was okay. And the drunken assholes who hit him were prosecuted, I'm glad to report.

But I'm sorry to report that I never did have a real date with Cute Bus Boy.

(*You know you totally have that song in your head now.)

Disastrous Date #3

This one was a second date. I blogged a little bit about it once before ...

He surprised me by taking me to local "haunted forest" attraction where people in spooky costumes jump out at you randomly. Little did he know that having spooky things jump out at me is pretty high on my least-favorite-things list.

So, I got a death grip on his arm, pressed myself up against him so tight you couldn't see light between us (hmmm, that was probably part of his plan, eh?), clenched my teeth and braved the spooky.

About halfway through the "forest", a werewolf jumps out of a bush right next to me. I scream, jump backwards, trip over a root ... and hear an ominous snapping sound as I hit the ground.

They carried me out of the forest, whisked me off in an ambulance to the nearest emergency room, and declared that I had a broken ankle. Ouch.

I never did see the rest of the haunted forest. But they sent me a t-shirt that said "I survived the [redacted] Haunted Forest". (Later, I corrected it by adding "barely" in Sharpie.) Also, the werewolf came to visit me at the emergency room. I thought that was sweet. :)

Again, my date got the chance to play chivalrous (See, I told you there was a pattern.) as he filled my pain prescription, took me home, tucked me into my bed and even watched some Disney movies with me.

Unlike the others, there was a third date after this one.

But that's another story ...