So there I was, sitting in the park with the members of my book club (and rather miffed about the fact that we’d gone from discussing Sue Monk Kidd to our undergraduate sexploits… especially as I had very little contribute to the discussion) when something compelled me to announce that I did in fact make out with so-and-so in the such-and-such during my junior year abroad.
Still with me? Good. If not, click back to yesterday’s post to bring yourself up to speed.
“Who?” my friend’s flat mate asked in disbelief.
I repeated his first name but upon observing that my friend’s face had gone pale, I pretended I’d forgotten his last (as if a girl like me would ever forget the name of the first Englishman she’d ever kissed—please! I’ll remember his name until the day I die).
But we couldn’t stop here.
“What was his surname?” the flat mate demanded.
It was at this point that my friend suggested everyone have another drink and started giving me funny looks but for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom their meaning.
A sensible girl would have simply shut up at this point but I was sick of always feeling so out of the loop. Besides, the now extremely flustered flat mate was waiting for an answer, so I gave it to her.
As it turns out, my first English crush and her bastard-of-an-ex-boyfriend were one in the same.
(You were right, Zak, Jill and Kalieta. Sorry Lost in France.)
Can we say “Open mouth, insert foot?” It was like watching a car crash but being unable to stop it.
And of course, once the floodgates were open, we had to establish precisely when my little make out session had taken place.
“Kat was a visiting student in 2005,” my friend reminded everyone. “You two didn’t start going out until much later.” (Mind you, this was now 2009— a full four years later— and the kiss had meant way more to me than it had to the man in question.)
But the damage was done.
And to add insult to injury, I was subsequently informed by the injured party that he had cheated on his girlfriend-of-2005 “all the time.”
If ever I’d longed for a better speed stick (or the ability to disappear under a rock) it was then. I was mortified—here I’d made on attempt to “fit in” with my British friends and it had blown up in my face. I felt horrible; obviously you’re not meant to like girls who end up dating someone you wanted to date but nor are you supposed to go rubbing their noses in it when they’ve just been through a break up.
I caught the tube back to my flat as quickly as I could and texted my friend as soon as I had mobile service to convey my sincerest apologies. I’m still waiting for the moment when I’ll be able to look back at my faux pas and laugh someday.
Have you survived a sticky situation of your own? If so, share your story for a chance to win one of two $150 gift certificates to a department store of YOUR CHOICE, courtesy of Mitchum and their new Love Thy Pits campaign! To enter, simply comment here on my blog or here on my Facebook page between now and August 10th– no purchase necessary. Winners will be announced on August 11th.
- The Great Date Experiment Anniversary Extravaganza: $300 for your Stickiest Situations! (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)