In Vino Veritas

My Very Worst Date was actually entirely my fault. One the day of our planned meeting, my date asked if I could come to her end of the city instead of mine. She explained that one of her friends was up for a couple of days and she wanted to spend some time with her, but still wanted to go on the date. I was happy to oblige.

We got to the bar, and she bought me a bottle of wine, which I drank far too fast. Meanwhile, a random guy appeared next to us and began talking about his battle with depression. Utterly drunk, I revealed my problems with depression too, also sharing with my date that I hadn’t come out of the closet yet (FYI I am girl).

I then missed the last train home, went back to her place with her friend, watched Mean Girls with them and quoted along, a performance which I found so hilarious being off my face as I was. The two of us  finally went into her bedroom, where I awkwardly tried to instigate sex before passing out in her bed.

I’m OK with the fact that she never called back.