The other night I had plans to get together with Long Distance Booty Call guy, who I haven't seen in over two years.
We didn't really have a set itinerary, and as I had a mad long day of yoga, brunching, brow waxing, Sex and the City, and was hungover to boot, I asked him if he minded shlepping to my place to decide what to do from there. He agreed that was a fine plan, and hopped in a cab from the LES.
I really had no idea what was expected of this evening...I mean, we hadn't seen each other in so long, and we were never ever truly "pals" that just hung out like normal people do, and obviously there was a little part of me that hoped perhaps we were still attracted to each other. I figured I would not think anymore about it and let nature take it's course.
I got a call about an hour after we spoke. Apparently, my friend had contracted some sort of food poisoning and, although he was more than halfway to my apartment, was feeling really, really sick, and did I mind if he just lay down for a little while til he felt better. WHY I didn't tell him to just turn around and go back to the LES I have no idea, but I guess I was hoping that maybe a little Tums would do the trick.
Sweating and moaning, my poor friend came barreling into my apartment and made his way straight to the loo. I tried not to notice the wretching sounds that came from behind the closed door, and I skittered off to the other end of the apartment in the hopes that I could avoid hearing anything more.
Pukefest ended, and he came wobbling out of the bathroom and hurled himself on the couch. Rubbing of his gut and moaning ensued. The sweating, heaving, groaning mess on my couch sealed the deal: the prospect of any hooking up going on that night was not very likely!
The beauty of it all was when my phone started to beep and I was pretty clearly getting a booty text of epic proportions from someone else, only to have to say "sorry, not tonight". Oh, that one hurt!
The icing on the cake was when, sick friend starts to feel better, and we're sitting on the couch talking...he starts to stroke my hair with the hand that I am guessing was covering his mouth right before the pukefest began...and says, "You're still so beautiful" while looking into my eyes.
"Thanks. You too. Going to bed now. Gnite" I kissed him on the head and scurried back to my room.
I guess the moral of the story might very well be "be careful what you wish for."