The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Date

Two and half innings and 2 pints later, the game is over, our team won, Casey is jubilant, I am despondent. I give serious consideration to picking my nose in front of him.

It's late. It's a weeknight. I have to get home. Time to face the music.

Casey and I walk the few blocks to my house. We ascend the front steps and I am plotting what I am going to do to get rid of him, tactfully, gracefully, but in no uncertain terms. No need to repeat this mistake. He needs to begin his long drive home immediately.

He asks to use my bathroom.

And just like that, my opportunity to send him packing has passed in an instant. He's inside my house.

He returns from the bathroom, but he's taken so long that I have to go. Now.

I head upstairs trying to figure out what I am going to say that will make the point without beating him over the head. He has to go. No need to call me again. Thanks for an inferior evening.

I come down the steps expecting to find him standing in my center hall. He's not.

Incredulously, he's taken a seat in my livingroom and has turned on the TV! Like he's staying a while!

I go into the room and position myself between him and the TV on the bench in front of the sofa. "Casey, it's late. I need to get to sleep and you have a long drive. You should get going."

He changes the subject and begins to talk about something else entirely.

I repeat that he has to go. As in now. And I stand up and walk toward the door. Had he worn a coat I would have handed it to him to emphasize the gesture so he would get it.

I turn around and I thank him for dinner. He goes to hug me. Benign enough.

But then he tries to kiss me and I am completely wigging. I manage to dodge that horror show, but in the mean time, OMG, he reaches in for a sneak swipe at a boob!

Are we at PROM??????

I say "Enough of that!" and I literally push him away and in the direction of the door. He's still talking. Like everything is just grand. Has the whole world gone mad?

Once he is safely outside of my house, I push the door closed with a heavy thud and loudly click all the locks for emphasis.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I need a friend. I want to call J. I call my mother instead. I decide to laugh and begin to regale her with the story.