It was a Friday morning and I could barely keep my eyes open or my breakfast down. I had had a fabulous date with Billy Blue the night before that started at Pio Pio and ended in my bedroom after two pitchers of sangria. Two orgasms and one hangover later, I found myself counting down the hours at job number one before heading to job number two when my weekend could officially begin. I desperately needed a bed and an IV, but instead I had a full inbox and a project due by five o’clock.
As I was attempting to coherently answer an email from my boss, my Blackberry’s familiar ding and flashing red light alerted me that I had just received a text message. It was from my beloved Billy Blue.
BB: I wasn’t sure if you said that you could make tomorrow’s event. I understand if you can’t.
“Tomorrow’s event” was actually his sister’s wedding, and in my hardly-sober haze, I had forgotten that Billy had so kindly invited me the night before during our date. We had only known each other for approximately one week and sixteen hours, but apparently he could tell that I would be great wedding date material. And I had to admit, I was happy to hear that he wouldn’t be spending his weekend with some other date whom might have the opportunity to enjoy the same performance I had received at the Love Shack a short twelve hours ago.
But my pounding head was trying to convey to my texting fingers that it was too soon for me to meet Billy’s entire family, including his sixty-seven cousins who were flying in from Ireland. I quickly surveyed three of my co-workers who had not consumed a massive amount of headache-inducing sulfites on their Thursday night to confirm my reservations. They all agreed it was too soon into our relationship to attend such an important family event, as well as reminded me that I probably should have looked in the mirror before heading to work this morning. Confused and offended, I headed back to my desk to reply to Billy.
BG: I do want to go but probably shouldn’t. What if you don’t like me in a week?
BB: I don’t place rules on anything. Whatever happens happens.
While I rarely abided by rules, I did have both lunch plans and a birthday party to attend on Saturday, so I declined his invitation and tried to revert my focus back on work. I immediately regretted my decision but knew it was too late to revoke my declination. I left job number one dismal and dehydrated only to head to Mad River to sling Coors Light and cranberry vodkas to over-consuming, under-tipping customers for the next three hours.
Upon my arrival to the bar, I immediately called a conference with Annie Smalls and Jenny Saurs to discuss my piss-poor decision of the afternoon.
“What’s that white stuff on your shirt? It looks like…ummm…you know…” Annie interrupted my frenzied explanation of “to-go or not-to-go.” I looked down to find a suspicious white substance crusted on my shirt, but that was the least of my worries at this point in my dim day.
Jenny saw my despair and broke it down for me, “Bacchus, since when do you follow rules? Weddings are fun and they’re Irish so you really can’t go wrong. Just shut up and go! And put some blush on or something. You look like a member of the Addams Family with all that paleness.”
Finally, the answer I had been looking for (aside from the comment about the insipid state of my skin). I quickly texted Billy and told him that I had changed my mind and that I was in for the wedding. After not hearing back from him for a good forty-five minutes, I was certain that I had already been replaced by a back-up date.
He finally replied with instructions to be ready by one o’clock. I went straight to bed after my shift, making sure to put on extra eye cream and take an on-the-verge-of-toxic dosage of vitamins. I needed my A-game if I were going to meet this man’s mother in addition to dozens of crazy Irish folk. If only I had known that I was, in fact, the back-up date…