You crashed the party. Literally.

We had been arguing, so I didn't expect you to show up to the party. Especially since you dated the host's cousin and it didn't end well. But there you were, all smiles and bouncing off the walls. I found out later that you had sucked down two bottles of wine and a half dozen cocktails "with dinner" before you showed up. Nonetheless, you were the life of the party, chugging beers and stealing a camera to take a billion pictures of people you didn't know. I thought it was a little odd when you took the host's other cousin outside for a smoke and a quick makeout session, call me a stick-in-the-mud if you will. When you came back in with your arm around her, I just looked at you, puzzled, and asked if you were testing me. I found it even more perplexing when you tried to kiss my other friend, he didn't appreciate that very much and nearly decked you. Eventually you charmed so many people at the party that they asked you to leave. You were sweet to ask if I was coming with you, but I politely declined.

It is not I who you are testing, sir. It is your liver.

You're bigger than me.

 

We were at a house party, I was hammered out of my gourd and falling all over myself. I said my "gfllblebles" (goodbyes) and stumbled out the door, attempting to walk myself home. Being a total gentleman and seeing a lady in distress, you offered to rescue me on your Nissan stallion and drive me to my house. We talked about something I will never remember, I didn't puke, and a few minutes later I was home! Glory be. Apparently I had mumbled something that made you fall in love with me immediately, because all of a sudden you had a hungry look in your eye and a crooked smile on your face. You leaned over for a goodnight kiss with such gusto that you ended up eating my mouth while I wondered what was going on (and why I couldn't breath). After I wiped my face and spat out your saliva, you told me you were too drunk to drive home and asked if you could crash. I said no, the inn's all full tonight, and have a good drive back to the suburbs.

Every time I saw you after that night, you would get in my space and tower over me, asking me why I never returned your 4am texts. Because "blank drunken stare" doesn't ever mean "yes." Commit that to memory.

You smelt it.

I was out at a bar after a company party, all dolled up. You were waiting to order a drink, tall with a casual suit. You leaned over and said those five magical words any girl wants to hear:

"Did you smell that fart?"

 Let's break this down for a moment. The way I see it, the conversation could go in one of two directions.

"Yes, I did! How gross is that? What did that guy eat?"
or
"No, what fart? Can you describe it? Ah, now I smell it!"

Either way, you're talking about farts, dude.

I ran like the wind.

-story borrowed from "The Roommate"

You know how much cheese I eat on a weekly basis.

We see each other every few weeks, usually in the evenings. You're always friendly, and quick to offer me a slice of bologna when I look hungry. Yes that's three quarters of a pound, thank you. Sliced thin, thanks. Oh, you need my ticket number? 14. Can you get my phone number? No, I don't think so. What are we going to tell our kids? "You had me at 'we have a sale on Boar's Head Salami this week'?"

There may be only a deli counter between us, but we're worlds (and a Land O'Lakes) apart.