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My Worst Valentine’s Day Ever by Donna Massey

February 7, 2007 by in category Blogs tagged as with 1 and 0
Home > Writing > Blogs > My Worst Valentine’s Day Ever by Donna Massey

My best friend introduced me to a friend of hers. I thought he was sweet, and very hot! He worked for a food company. He gave me a call and told me about a special Valentine’s banquet his company was having.

We had dating for about three months before this, and I thought, why not? It was my birthday, I wasn’t getting any younger, and I had this hot guy wanting to take me away for a weekend right?

Wrong.

When we got to the hotel, he checks us in. It was beautiful. I didn’t know anyone from his company, and felt a little out of place. I soon found out he had made reservations for only one room. I thought, great, I am going to get lucky.

Wrong.

After checking in, we unpacked, and changed our clothes. My date had a meeting downstairs and the wives, girlfriends and significant others had activities going on while they had their meetings. I got to know some of the other women and boy, was that an eye opener.

Turns out, he was a player. Great. Now, I’m stuck all weekend with a sex-crazed jerk, with no way to get home. On top of that, we were sharing a room!

We go back upstairs, fool around a little and then he goes to take his shower. He has a magnificent body by the way. He works out, so he’s firm and built. Not bothering to hide himself, which I think is a little unusual, since we’ve never done it before. He strolls across the room, gets his, no kidding, Speedo underwear, and takes them to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he comes out and asks if I’ve pressed his clothes.

Pressed his clothes, what does he take me for, the maid? I grab his clothes from the closet and hand them to him while I get my own to take a shower. I dress in this drop dead gorgeous off the shoulder designer gown, and come out and realize I was alone.

Ok, I’m stuck in a hotel room and I can’t go home. Surely, he’s coming back isn’t he?
Deciding that since it was my birthday, I’m in a beautiful hotel, and the food is free, I’d just make the most of it. I hear a knock on the door; I answer it thinking that he’d forgotten his key. It was one of the wives.

Smiling, I let her know that I was waiting on my date. She looks at me strange, and tells me he’s been down in the bar for the last hour, and by the looks of it, drunk.

I grab my key, and follow her down. We get to the bar and the men start letting out low whistles. We smile, make our way over to the bar, and order a glass of wine. My new friend gives her husband a kiss and introduces me.

Her husband asked who I was with. I tell him, and I get this look. Ok, now I’m really getting worried. What’s the deal with this guy?

Looking around, I didn’t see him. My friend and her husband escort me into the dining room, and there in the corner is my date. He looked drunk as a skunk and trying to hump the wall.

I walk over to him, with as much grace as I can find, with everyone looking in our direction. I tap him on the shoulder, and apologize for interrupting his social hour, but dinner was being served, and I’d really like my date back.

The young girl, and I do mean young, looked extremely embarrassed at being caught doing the horizontal mambo in the dining room. She wasn’t even a guest at the banquet.

I tried to make light of it throughout the evening, but it go worse. All I wanted was to go home. I’d try to find someone in the morning to come and get me. My ex was out of town, my best friend and her husband, were celebrating at a Bed and Breakfast in South Texas, and I was stuck with a jerk, trying to hit on every woman, he could find.

I thought I was the woman he was going to get lucky with. Guess not.

By the time the banquet ended, I had everyone looking at me, thinking, poor woman. To be left all to herself, at what was supposed to be an event for sweethearts, and then, to have to share a room with that.

God, don’t remind me.

I finally gave up and went to our room. Here he came. He stumbled into our room, it was three in the morning, my birthday, and he was trying to make his way into my bed. Ha!

I was dressed in a lacy black teddy, that I had purchased for my evening of supposed romance, and now I had a drunken idiot trying to paw me. I tried to push him off, but I didn’t have too try too hard. He passed out while trying to unzip his pants.

Slipping out of the bed, I crawled into the other one. I have never, in my life, felt more humiliation, or been so devastated. I really thought that maybe once my husband and I got divorced, I’d find someone who wanted to show me what love and passion were all about.

Wrong.

Waking up, I look at the alarm clock. I was six o’clock in the morning. Enough was enough. Dressing, I packed my evening gown, in which I had looked damn good! I don’t think he ever really saw me.

I start tugging on him to get him up so he could take me home. He grunts, looks at me, and falls back to sleep. It was useless. I’m tired, humiliated, I’m crying and I want to go home.

I grab my key and head down for the breakfast. I wanted to eat, before trying once more to get that lazy bastard up. I never wanted to look at his face again.

I order my breakfast, and his boss comes to apologize for my date’s behavior. He wanted to know if he’d done anything inappropriate. I think a moment. Lets see he tried to maul me, ignored me, and abandoned me. I answer no.

We ate our breakfast, and he hands me his card letting me know that if I change my mind, to give him a call. They walk me back to my room, and there lay my date, exactly where I had left him.

It was after nine. I hadn’t slept, it was my birthday and Valentines Day, and I’m stuck in a hotel room with a drunk. God could this get any worse.

Looking around, I see the half-empty coke bottle sitting on the dresser that he’d been drinking out of yesterday, and thought, why not.

Picking up the bottle, I toss it at him. When that didn’t work, I go over and start pounding on his head with as much strength I have. He jumps up and starts screaming and rubbing his head, while looking at me with a go to hell look.

He drives me home in silence, doesn’t get out of the car to help with my bag, and drives off before I get the door closed. Happy Birthday to me…Happy Valentines Day to me.

February 14th, 1997 was absolutely the worst day of my life.

Donna Massey
Author of unpublished novel:
Tennessee Spitfire

1 Comment

  • Anonymous
    on February 14, 2007

    Donna,
    I hope the last nine V and B Days have been much improved and I hope the this one rocks, but if all eles fails, you might consider getting a coke bottle and beating the hell out of a pillow or smashing said coke bottles in a dumpster. I find the soung of glass breaking quite refreshing.
    My ex mother-in-law asked for a set of dishes back after Dr Dick___and I divorced. These were not family heirlooms. They were Lennox bone china(so so not me) that she had given me as birthday , Christmas, whatever gifts. Indian giver, not cool. I broke each and every piece(I know, petty and childish) and sent them back to her in a very small box, lest she think they were damaged in transit. That was the last I heard from her. Thank God. I fell bad about the dishes now and then, I could have sold them on ebay(if I waited 15 years for the internet to be invented) but the thought of the look on her face when she opened the box still makes me giggle.
    Always,
    Michelle

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