Vino-tines Day

I am involved in a passionate love affair with the man of steel!  Not Superman, that guy is a joke. My guy makes him look like a wimp!  Dave is courageous, fearless and damned near bulletproof!

Let me tell you about our first Valentine’s Day and you can decide for yourself.

For starters, Dave has a romantic curse of his own.  Before we met, Dave has never been in a relationship that lasted longer than six months.  On top of that, the man has never been in a relationship where he has been able to celebrate the holiday of love with anyone ever.  Not even those relationships that limp along until February 15th when the parties involved have dinner and part ways.  Dave had always been alone and so to that end Valentine’s Day has always kind of sucked.

But not so that year, or so I decided.  Having found my soulmate, my one and only, I was determined to make this first romantic holiday special.  I bought him some popcorn, a romantic horror movie (Don’t judge, we are into that kind of thing!) and some socks with little faces of Edgar Allen Poe on them.  I wrote him a valentine, telling him how blessed and grateful I was to have him in my life.  I even made a post on Facebook, sharing with our friends how much I loved him and couldn’t wait to see how our adventures together unfold.  I thought the post was a nice idea, he had never had anyone publicly declare their adoration of him like that before.  I just never imagined how that adoration or our adventures would reveal themselves that night.

It was Friday night and the start of our traditional weekend together.  Dave had taken it upon himself to make our plans for the evening.  We were going to go to a friend’s home where we would enjoy conversation and a couple’s dinner with the guys cooking an Italian meal for the ladies before retiring home for some time alone.  Dave volunteered to make the appetizers.  He found a recipe online for Italian kabobs and spent the afternoon cooking tortellini and skewering it with olives and marinated tomatoes.  

After finishing my work day, I left the office and met him in the kitchen.  We shared a kiss and I presented him with his valentine.  He was excited about the socks as I predicted.  He then gave me a gift-a phone charger for my car and a beautiful necklace.  He installed one and put the other around my neck-I’ll let you figure out which was which. We stopped by our favorite liquor store and found a bottle of Italian wine.  What luck, it was on sale!  Then we got back on the road and off to dinner.

The friends we were meeting were old theater buddies of Dave’s.  I adore these people!  They are just much as fun and quirky as comedians and writers so I fit right in.  We chatted and compared recipes and vinos until someone suggested we crack open a bottle.  One of the other couples had a better idea and pulled out a bottle of single malt whisky and offered the group shots. 

At this point, I should draw your attention to a few minor details that contribute to the following events that evening.  The first is my innate (or insane) desire to hold my own in a social setting, the other is the fact that I am a complete and total lightweight. In spite of being the product of an Irish-Catholic mother and German/French father, I have zero tolerance for alcohol.  I get buzzed on the first quarter of a draft beer drawn from a tap.  And my desire to prove just what a badass I believe I am has gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion, with the highlight being my one and only overindulgence on Jack Daniels which resulted in me throwing up for three days and never again being able to even stand the smell without my stomach turning.  

Dave knows this about me.  I also know he is a big fan of single malt.  So not wanting to miss out on anything he enjoys, I asked for someone to pour me a small shot and managed to choke it down unnoticed.

Then it was time for everyone else to show off what they brought, including that Italian red Dave and I brought.  Well, no wine can be properly admired while still in the bottle, right?  So we popped the cork and had a glass.  I kept mine small.  I was pacing myself.

When our host was finished preparing the main course, we sat down to dinner and the first toast of the evening.  Sitting at the head of the table, he spoke to those collected about this day of love, how happy he was to be sharing it with those around the table-and especially for Dave to finally have someone.  Dave looked into my eyes and gave me a kiss.  How I love that man!  The wine was gone as the toast concluded but it was not forgotten.  There were many other bottles to sample as well.

Now I admit by this point in the evening, the shot had taken effect and I was fuzzy.  The wine certainly did nothing to clear my head and all I had to eat prior to dinner that day was two protein shakes and a couple jelly beans.  Come to think of it, I may not have even eaten the jelly beans.  The office had been quite busy that day and my mind was clearly somewhere else and when it does that, I tend to forget things like that.  But there were two protein shakes ingested so I figured I would be okay.  I would have plenty of calories over dinner, right?  To ensure this, I had an extra serving of salad, pasta and Dave’s vegetarian appetizer along with another small glass of wine.  

The evening was filled with great conversation.  I love hanging out with those Dave calls his ‘Ride or Die’ friends!  I always learn the most interesting things about him.  That night was no different.  As wine glasses (and nine wine bottles) emptied, more bottles were opened and poured.  I knew I had reached my tolerable limit before dessert but we were having a great time and I was keeping my glasses small.  So I had a couple more breadsticks, hoping it would help. 

It didn’t.

The dessert was delicious and the wine was too!  So much so that by the time I realized that my glass was also being filled by another buddy at the party, I didn’t care less and kept right on drinking.  Afterwards, we retired to the living room to play a virtual version of a card game.  I navigated my way from the dining room to the living room just fine-fine being I didn’t end up wandering anywhere unintended.  Dave had to help me load the game on my cell phone but I wasn’t able to follow along with it because my screen kept timing out so I put the phone down and took a nap on the couch.

I must have been tranquilized with an elephant dart while no one was looking because when it was time to go home, I was hit!  I remember Dave helping me out the door, down the steps and out to the car.  I distinctly remember the ice on the deck and being grateful that Dave had my waist because had I been left to walk down them alone, I would have likely spent the night on the porch.  I have no recollection of our host or my sommelier helping me as well.  I also don’t remember spending quite so much time with my head hanging low but it would explain why I cued in on the icy deck so clearly.

As we got into the car, I told Dave that I was tired and flumped into his lap.  He said it was okay, patted me on the head and asked me to sit up so he could operate the gas and brake pedals.  I gave him some resistance at first, his lap was very comfortable.  But eventually he won out and I sat up, or at least upright-ish.  I was probably more diagonal than vertical.  I was also very nauseous.

Dave was very sweet.  He talked to me, asked how I was doing and reassured me that he loved me and that we would go home and cuddle.  I hardly noticed when the conversation started taking a turn towards whether or not we would be leaving town that evening.  

He kept asking me if we should go home or go over to his parents who lived in town.  I love Oscar’s parents.  They have welcomed me into the family and I feel as though I have known them forever, but the idea of snuggling up in bed sounded much better and so I told him I was okay and I wanted to go home.

I told him that many times, until I couldn’t say it any more.  I was rendered speechless as the vomit started rising through my system looking for an exit.  No worries I thought, I had everything under control.  I would just lay there with my mouth closed and not breathe for the rest of eternity.  See?  Problem solved!  Until it wasn’t.

Dave drives a beautiful car.  It’s a gorgeous mint condition jet black 1970 Ford Mustang fastback.  The interior is original.  He lovingly calls it Betty.  

I threw up all over Betty.

Not only did I throw up all over Betty, but all over my coat, my clothes and my shoes.  Dave pulled over immediately and ran around the passenger side to assist.  That’s when I threw up all over Dave, his coat, his clothes and his shoes.  In spite of everything, he didn’t bend under the gastric pressure.  He made sure I was finished, wiped my face and took me straight to his parents where his mother helped him get me stripped off, washed off, changed and in bed.  

I have no experience being a shitfaced guest in someone else’s home so I hope I did okay.  The last thing I wanted was to be seen three sheets to the wind, covered in vomit and crying over desecrated Betty.  I don’t think I said a thing to either of his parents without prefacing each statement with an apology.  They were so kind, saying it could happen to anyone.  

But poor Dave!  This was his very first Valentines date and here he was hanging out in his parent’s bathroom, covered in vomit, trying to wash chunks out of the hair of his date who had just violated Betty.  And Betty!  He kept that car in immaculate condition!  He washed it and detailed it weekly!  He loved that car and I soiled it!  I cried, “You’re going to leave me!”

No he wasn’t, he said.  It was just a car.  But in my near-pickled state, I wouldn’t believe it and continued to cry for the next couple hours about his impending dump.  Then that happened too.  I was so sick, inebriated, whatever that I couldn’t find my behind-and Dave had to take care of that too.  He put me to bed and went out to clean the car.  I slept it off with a trash can on one side and Oscar on the other.  How he ever closed his eyes that night so close to this high-heeled cannon, I’ll never know.

The next day, clothed in his mother’s sweater and armed with a trash bag of clothes covered with my stomach contents, we made our way back home.  He told me he loved me and he was glad I was okay.  Then he surprised me by saying that this was still the best Valentine’s Day he ever had.  

Wow, I said in between gags, he really must keep the bar of expectation pretty low!  Nope, he insisted, this was still the best Valentine’s Day ever.  We had a great time, up until my excellent imitation of the Exorcist girl, and even that wasn’t so bad.  And unlike Date #3, this one didn’t involve cargo shorts!  He even got to return the favor!  I told him I remembered being able to find my own butt just fine and how I thought he was exaggerating.  He just laughed, patted me on the head and said if it made me feel better I had his permission to keep right on thinking that.

A few days later, we ran into the same group of friends at a theater rehearsal and I was asked how the night went.  It was memorable, I said.  I threw up in Betty.  

“You did what?!” they exclaimed. One even apologized even though it wasn’t necessary.  I learned a powerful lesson in humility, the fact that I cannot run with the big dogs, and that when intoxicated I only have a sneaking suspicion of where my ass should be.

That lesson has come upon me many times since-especially when I think about wine, whisky or anything with chunks.  Betty has also recovered, although Dave spends even more time cleaning her now.  He claims he catches a whiff of something every now and then and is pretty sure he missed a spot.  Now that the crisis is over, I have been ribbed by my friends and others while he and I are out and about as well.  The other night at dinner, our waitress asked if I would be ordering anything from the bar.  No thanks, I said. Urp...I’m good.

It would seem even the cosmos have a joke or two left untold.  While trying to decide what to cook for dinner this weekend, Dave decided to use the ‘Dinner Spinner’ ap on his phone.  Shaking his phone and initiating the program, the results came back that we should drink our dinner and that it should consist of grain and no ice.

Not now, Google.  I have a headache.

I’m Jennifer Beck and I’m Jenuinely Jennifer.

Writer, Researcher, and (Urp! Ugh!)... lightweight.