Getting Lucky
My Very Worst Date didn’t actually seem absolutely bad until after the fact – but it certainly didn’t go that well. I met a guy at a bar in college and we really hit it off. I gave him my number and he called me later that week asking me to dinner.
He informed me that though his real name was Justin, he actually preferred to be called “Lucky” since he was redheaded and Irish. Also this was his “club” name that everyone else knew him by. I thought it was a little silly for someone who was 24 years old but I shrugged it off. He then proceeded to tell me about how much he loved techno and how the only thing he looked forward to all year was going to Burning Man. He wasn’t in school and was working in catering. He quickly rebounded this by stating that he had been doing bigger and better things elsewhere, but had returned to the small town because his mother was suffering from breast cancer. He said he had to spend a lot of his time taking her to doctor’s appointments and helping her out around the house. I thought it was admirable he had made such sacrifices for his family.
After dinner he suggested going to my place since he lived with his mom and didn’t have a car. I reluctantly agreed and we popped in a movie. He didn’t waste any time with his advances as he was obviously not interested in the movie. He kissed me and did the much dreaded tongue to the back of my throat. After that I knew for certain I did not have an interest in this guy.
As it got later and the movie ended, Lucky asked if he could spend the night. I gave him the sideways glance and he told me he really didn’t want to try anything and that he had work early in the morning. For whatever reason I agreed and we both awkwardly slept in the same bed. Of course, he tried something from time to time, but strangely enough, this little orphan kitten I had taken in a few days prior kept him from making his move. Every time he tried something the kitten would playfully jump on his head and simply not leave him alone.
The next morning I woke up to him calling his work to say that he wouldn’t be coming in because he felt unwell. He then gave me the eye and I told him I thought it was time for him to leave. He did so a little bitterly and neither one of us called the other again.
A few weeks later my friend met his younger brother at a bar and, having heard my stories, asked how his mother was doing. He looked at her baffled, saying that she was fine and wondered why she had asked. She told him she had heard she’d been diagnosed with cancer – and to our horror, he revealed their mother never had cancer. Lucky had moved back home because he ran out of money and needed a place to stay.
