(Otherwise known as: That Time I Thought My Boyfriend Might Kill Me)
Stars aligned this weekend, and I got spend some quality time with several old friends I don’t get to see very often. These mini-reunions reminded all of us of a bunch of stories we had forgotten (and a few none of us could remember? but we know they happened?)
My friend Kristin (who I’ve known and loved since I was 11) came home for a long weekend — and I haven’t seen her for two years. And before that, I hadn’t seen her for another two or three. She lives in NC with her husband and adorable daughter — and her trips back to Baltimore are random and infrequent. So, when she’s here? You drop what you’re doing, and you go have a drink with her. That’s what a few of us were able to do anyway — and my friend Krista brought along a treasure trove of old notes from high school.
Apparently one New Year’s Eve — we were somewhere with some people. Someone ended up without pants, and Krista and I had to redress him? And someone got grounded, but I didn’t. This was a huge deal when we were 15. I know, because I wrote like, a thousand notes about it.
I don’t remember any of this. Also, apparently I was in love with someone named DJ? Yeah, I don’t remember that either. But that’s not what this story is about. But Megan, Krista & Kristin? I love you guys. Also? Pants.
Earlier that same day — there was a mini SU reunion as well. Now, I get to see a lot of my friends from college all the time. Some of us live nearby, and most of us talk all the time. Except for Jody & Josh. Josh I get to see occasionally — usually at weddings. He won’t hesitate to make the drive back to MD for a party, or invite us to spend the night at his house after a Spice Girls concert, and then call in sick to work the next day. And that’s why I love him.
But Jody? Jody practically lives in Canada. Seriously. And I haven’t seen her in four years. So when Jody comes to town? You also drop whatever it is you’re doing, and go have seven drinks with her. Jody & Josh together are two of the worst influences a girl could ask for. And coming from me? That’s saying something. But that’s not what this story is about either.
I just wanted to set the stage. This weekend, there was a lot of drinking, a lot of story telling, and a lot of hot dogs. And it was during all that, that I remembered this story…
Four years ago, my friend Jes celebrated her 26th birthday. Back then, most of us were unmarried, all of us were sans babies, and we were all really, really irresponsible. I was still dating (and living with) my (now ex) boyfriend of almost three years.
When Jes got married, I met her little sister, Amanda, who was adorable, and funny. Basically she was a lot like Jes, so naturally, we hit it off. I’m funny. People like me. We’d seen each other at parties — but, I’d maybe talked to her four or five times in my life. Remember that.
So Amanda was in town for her sister’s birthday party. You know what else was there? A lot of alcohol. And also? Some illegal baked goods.
Now, I love brownies as much as the next girl — but I’ve always been more of a drinker, so I wasn’t partaking. I warned my boyfriend. “Those brownies are serious business. Don’t have more than one.”
And then I got distracted. Amanda grabbed me, and introduced me to her friends and her boyfriend, “This is the girl I was telling you about. I love this girl.”
I told you. People like me.
I was drinking and talking, laughing — you know, normal party type stuff. Amanda kept grabbing me, and introducing me to people. Telling everyone how much she loved me.
A few hours later, someone comes to get me. Apparently my boyfriend is outside, and is freaking out. I should come talk to him.
I find him in the middle of the street. Trying to hail a cab. In a residential neighborhood.
I ask him what’s wrong.
“I have to get out of here, right now.”
So, I grab my purse, say my goodbyes and put him in my car. The whole ride home, he’s convinced I shouldn’t be driving (I was fine, btw.)
“I think you should let me drive.”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“There are cops everywhere. You’re drunk.” (Nope. Not true.)
“I think I’m ok right here. Why don’t you try to sleep.”
After the weirdest ride home, ever — I get him in the house. I lived in a townhouse at the time. We had the basement and the ground floor, so we came into the basement (our Family Room) and had to get up the stairs to go to bed.
That didn’t happen. For a very, very long time.
He was 100% convinced that I was having an affair. With Amanda.
“Who was that girl?!”
“You know who I’m talking about!”
“No, I really don’t. There were 20 girls there.”
“The one who kept telling you she loved you?!”
“… Jes’ little sister?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know her name!”
I spent the next two hours trying in vain to convince him that not only was I not cheating on him (with essentially a stranger) but that I was also not a lesbian. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to go to bed — I had to get up early the next day to help Kristina with wedding planning. I tried to get him to come upstairs.
“I can’t walk up those stairs.”
“Because. I. Just. Can’t.”
“Ok, fine. Stay down here. I have to go to bed. Can you promise me you’re not going to murder me in my sleep? Should I hide the knives?”
He promises. I go to bed.
A few hours later, I’m sound asleep. I feel him come to bed. A while later, I roll over, and happen to open my eyes.
He’s laying right behind me. Propped up on one elbow. Wide awake, and not blinking. Watching. Me. Sleep.
It was the longest night of my life. He was completely paranoid for the next 24 hours. And after two days of constant accusations of infidelity and lesbianism, you know what he did when he finally came down? Asked me if I wanted to go engagement ring shopping.
No thanks. I’m good.