Foot. Meet Bullet.

I met a woman. And I’m trying really hard to blow it.

Last night was our first night out to the bars. We had a nice reception and then headed downtown. She looked incredible. I caught myself several times wondering how in the world I deserved to call her my date.

I’m a dumb guy. Maybe more so than most. Certainly too dumb to be as educated and old as  I am. So. I drank way too much. Work has been rough. I was a nervous wreck. So I took to the bourbon hard. I’m not excusing it. I know better. I’ve had PLENTY of experience in the state of sideways. So I knew it could happen.

I spilled my guts. I told her everything I’ve written on this silly page and more. I told her she was the one. I told her I loved her more already than I ever have anyone else. After a month and some change. I told her I had reevaluated every plan that I ever had. I told her that I had never been so sure of anything in my life — that I never wanted to wake and look into any other eyes but hers.

That’s all true. But when delivered at a waffle house through slurred speech with eyes half open. Well. You have to question the sincerity. You also have to consider that it’s pretty fucking crazy. Add the fact that I may have had a jealous moment with one of her friends. There’s some reevaluation on her part.

I’m physically sick over it. That hangover is bad, but knowing that I got blackout drunk when I had everything to lose. That’s a million times worse.

When dealing with firearms we always talk safety. You can’t call that round back. It’s the same with drunken words and actions. I would do literally anything to do last night over. To be smooth. To hold my tongue. To just stand in the glow of the woman I want to be my wife. Instead I’m sitting at my kitchen table in the dark trying to think of what to do or say to avoid what would be the worst day of my life. Losing my chance.

I wouldn’t blame her if she called it. She is the type of woman who doesn’t have to — and shouldn’t — accept anything less than someone who does all the right things. Even if my words were true. It wasn’t the time. Surely wasn’t the place.  That’s what is hardest about this. Knowing that I wasn’t worthy of her when that’s what I want more than anything in this world.

So tonight I’ll pray really hard that we move past it. I’ll try to mend the bullet hole in my foot. I’ll apologize and hope for the best.

I met a woman. I’m hoping I don’t have to say goodbye.



One thought on “Foot. Meet Bullet.

  1. I hope the next date works out better. Suggestion. Buy a top shelf single malt; neat or two rocks only…and sip it slowly…savour it as much as you are your date.


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