The Date

It was for a fund raiser, a big to-do for the local arts center, and even sounded like fun this time. I'd been given two tickets as one of the perks of my job at the local radio station. My potential date was the only neighbor I would risk speaking to. He shall remain nameless herein. Okay, so the truth is I didn't remember his name until probably six months after this, even though I asked him several times and he replied each time. Considering the intimate qualities of that relationship, he was the most likely suspect to serve as my companion for the fête. I knocked on his door the evening before The Big Event and asked if he'd go.

I'm not sure if he choked or was just clearing his throat, but he didn't say no, so as far as I was concerned it was a date.

Now, I should explain that the glamorous world of radio had treated me exceptionally well that week. By Friday night I hadn't worked more than seventy hours or so, most of which were spent cultivating my ulcer. I managed to get through the whole week without being screamed at by any politicians (a record, I assure you.) Granted, the broadcast computer running the studio had crashed three or four times a day, every day, and I was getting phone calls 24/7 that sent me off driving by the Braille method to fix the damned thing. You know what I mean -- hit the bumps on one side of the road, then steer away until you hit the bumps on the other side.

Incidentally, my title was News Director. In this station, the news director's position encompassed dealing with the normal ilk, plus being the IT do-it-all, assistant general manager, supply clerk, traffic person (in radio-ese, that's scheduling of advertising content, not the cars and trucks of real humans who drove by and laughed.) Oh, and in my spare time I'd been negotiating a deal for a T1 internet connection, along with creating and managing the studio web site.

And I only had to work another eight or nine hours the morning and afternoon before The Big Event Saturday night. What a piece of cake!

Saturday, after dragging my butt home from several more hours at the studios, I stared longingly at my bed on my way through the apartment, thinking it should really be ashamed of itself for looking so good. Those soft pillows and the quilt were calling to me, but I steeled myself against their siren song. I had a DATE.

I realized that I'd left time nebulous when issuing my magnanimous invitation, so I made a mad dash to the neighbor's place and knocked on his door, letting him know what time things started. I even sweetened the pot by letting him know that dinner was included in the deal. He didn't have to do anything except show up. He nodded and smiled and I was gone again to take a shower and try to stay awake long enough to get ready.

An hour later I was decked out in full night-out regalia, even wearing the makeup I'd hidden from my teenage daughter a little over six months prior. I went whole hog for this historic occasion. The allergic reaction was worth it, the way I saw it. So what if my eyes swelled closed sometime during the next few hours?

Time to leave rolled around and my Date wasn't there. That didn't faze me. Half an hour later when he still hadn't shown up, I walked over to knock on his door, thinking maybe he'd misunderstood.

He didn't answer the door, so I knew what I had to do. I cheated on him. I snuggled right up with those pillows and quilt, shameless as anything. I think I might have heard someone knocking at the front door a few minutes later but by that time I was beyond caring. I slept for fourteen hours straight.

Best damned date I ever had!