A Corkscrew Let Him Put a Ring On It: A #SoWrong Moment by Blogdramedy
Blogdramedy recently took an extended trip to Italy and France, and she wrote long, dreamy posts along the way. She also likes to write about Karl Urban. I’ve known for a long time that Blogdramedy enjoys wine. After reading today’s post, you’ll all understand why. In sharing this piece, Blogdramedy has raised the bar for #SoWrong posts. Or maybe lowered it, depending on your take. Click to check out Blogdramedy’s blog. Follow her on Twitter at @blogdramedy. Or both. You won’t be sorry, but you should probably bring some tissues.
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How a Corkscrew Let Him Put a Ring On It ~ by Blogdramedy
Four months after the divorce, I arrived at work for a meeting and that’s when I saw him.
Tall. Dark. Beautiful. Dressed in a deep blue suit with mauve pinstripes. It was his shoes I really noticed. Burgundy loafers with a slightly pointed toe; polished to a gleam.
No one wore shoes like that where I worked.
No one wore shoes like that in the entire city.
I wanted to ask him where he had bought them and if he polished them or if he had someone do it for him.
I shook his hand instead.
By the end of the meeting, I could tell he fancied me. All the signs were on display.
He was a male peacock flashing his colors and I was blinded…he was
a kaleidoscope of light and I was a moth.
He interpreted my moth-like eye fluttering for flirtatious behaviour (it was) and called me later, asking me out for a drink.
A month later and we’d been on 18 dates. We still had not slept together. I don’t know if it was me sending out the “damaged” vibe or him being kind of shy underneath his spiffy suit but we didn’t rush. It was nice.
And then he said he wanted to cook for me and to introduce me to something rather special.
Cue alarm bells.
Introduce me? What…like to a person? Another woman? Another MAN? HIS MOTHER???
When I arrived, the lights were low and the fireplace was flicking. Sade was playing on the stereo.
I took a quick scan and relaxed when I saw we were alone. Not totally relaxed, mind you. Constant vigilance had been my motto ever since a grasshopper jumped up my ballerina dress at the age of six.
After we’d chatted and caught up on our day, that’s when he sprung it on me.
The something special was a bottle of Bordeau that had just arrived from his wine club. (Yes, I know. Screams pretentious but it was the 90s.)
Now, I was never a lover of fine wines. I really didn’t like white and red had to be sweet and fruity before I let it pass my lips. He uncorked and poured, all the while describing this particular wine’s characteristics.
It was smokey. [sip]
It was plummy. [sip]
Lush. [sip] Ripe. [sip] Full-bodied. [sip sip]
By the end of the second bottle, I was ready. And so was he.
Somehow we made it into the bedroom, where I pushed him down onto the bed and proceeded to demonstrate my take of a slow striptease. Unfortunately I was not wearing one single thing with a button or a zipper. The best I could do was tug my sweater up over my head…slooowly.
That got me a little dizzy so I fell to my knees and as luck would have it, the latitude of my face and his crotch? About the same. So, what’s a girl going to do? I leaned in, unsnapped the top button of his jeans, and…
…vomited all over his lap.
It was like something out of the Exorcist. I did Linda Blair proud that night.
And that’s the last thought I had before passing out cold on the floor.
I woke the next morning laying next to him, in the spoon position, still dressed and chastity intact.
He’d cleaned up and put us both to bed. The sex that morning was sublime and has been ever since.
In 2008, I married my Mister and we’ve been happily drinking wine ever after.
What did I learn from this embarrassing moment?
Always drink in moderation and wear something appropriate to the occasion. Something with buttons and zippers.
How did you meet your spouse? Was there vomit involved?
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