While eating lunch at Cafeteria, a very cute boy was seated next to me. He said to me, “Hey. You’re adorable.” Just as simple as that. We ended up eating together and set an actual date for that Thursday evening.

I already had plans earlier that day with my friend J. I always have fun with J—to be honest, a little too much fun. J and I always drink too much—rather, I always drink too much, and often make a fool of myself.

We met at Bamboo 52 for sushi, drinking two lychee martinis in the process. He flirted with our waiter, and when we ordered a third martini he brought out shots as well. I should have known this would happen.

We finally left the restaurant, walking toward my subway station. “You haven’t had a margarita until you’ve had one at El Azteca.”

“Just one,” I agreed. “But then I need to get home and change for my date.”

Two and a half jumbo margaritas later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s the very cute boy. “Hey, I just finished work! Where should we meet?”

I panicked. “I’m at El Azteca with a friend. Meet me here and we’ll find a bar?”

He showed up in 15 minutes, and I jumped off my stool and ran out of the bar—and out on my bill. (Of course, J covered me, but you get the gist—I was drizzunk.)

“Where should we go?” he asked. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I saw Boots and Saddle at the end of the block. “Let’s go to Berts and Serdles,” I slurred. He happily agreed, somehow unnerved by my state of drunk.

We went right to the bar, and he ordered a Corona. “And—what do you want? Get whatever.”

So I leaned across the bar, and said, “I’ll have a Long Island.” I don’t know why I ordered a Long Island. I don’t know why I had three margaritas, three martinis and a shot before a first date. I don’t know why I do a lot of the things that I do.

I also don’t remember the rest of the night. I have glimpses. Ordering another Long Island. Sitting next to him on the subway. Lying next to him in bed, throwing up in my mouth, hearing “You OK?”, swallowing and saying “Yes, fine.”

I woke up naked in his bed. My clothes were in a line from the door to the bed, and I imagined the sloppy strip-tease that led me here. I got up, got dressed and managed to get home without throwing up again.

Funny enough, he did ask me out on a second date, but I was so embarrassed that I never responded. If you’re still out there, very cute boy, ask me out again. I promise not to order any Long Islands.


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Ian-Michael Bergeron

Iowa-born writer Ian-Michael Bergeron has written his weekly column in Get Out! Magazine since 2015, as well as editorials and interviews. He lives in New York City in a one-bedroom with two cats, Alexander and Thomas, and spends most of his income on shoes.

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