In 2000, Chris and I had our first Valentine’s Day “date”. I use quotations because we really weren’t dating then, we were “just friends”. I use quotations because, well, while technically we weren’t dating, we spent all of our time together and didn’t see other people, but whatever. Since neither of us had any other options for the evening, we decided to spend it together. And because we were young and hip and I hadn’t developed a fear of enclosed spaces yet, we decided to spend Valentine’s Day at the mall.
There are two things you should know before I continue this story:
1. Chris has a very high threshold for pain medication.
2. Chris has no qualms about taking other people’s prescribed medications.
Well, Chris just happened to have a headache that evening. Realizing he was out of Advil, he did what any sane person would do – grabbed a bottle of different colored pills and took two blue ones. When I asked him what they were, he shrugged and said they were probably some of his dad’s arthritis medicine. Uh Huh.
We got to the mall and were having a super fun time window shopping, when suddenly Chris decided he needed a hair cut. Because that’s what most men do at the mall on Valentine’s Day. So, while he got settled into the barber’s chair, I went across to the Hallmark store to purchase myself something made of chocolate to salvage this day. It was while I was perusing the boxes of chocolate covered cherries that a strange lady with purple hair grabbed me and said I was needed at the haircut place. Apparently, Chris had passed out while getting his hair cut. Yes, my date PASSED OUT while getting his hair cut. At this time, I figured the blue pills were NOT arthritis medicine.
I dropped down on my knees in front of him and immediately noticed the glazed expression on his face.
Me: “Are you OK?”
Chris: “What do you mean? I’m just getting my hair cut.”
Me: “Well, you passed out.”
Chris: (quite belligerently) “No, I didn’t”
Me: “Um, I think you did.”
Chris: “No, I was just resting my eyes a little.”
Me: “And that’s why you’re on the floor?”
Chris: “I’m not on the floor, I’m in the chair.”
My friends, he was on the floor. Luckily, the sweet purple-haired lady hadn’t cut his hair yet, so I lifted him to his feet and we staggered out of the shop, never to return.
I don’t know why we decided to go to dinner after that, but we did. It was dreadful. All through dinner, Chris’ face got whiter and whiter and then he began sweating profusely. You can imagine the looks of the patrons around us as they were trying to enjoy their special 5-course meal for $20. I ate everything they put in front of me and Chris sat there like a corpse.
The next day I saw him at work and he apologized for the evening.
Chris: “Getting my hair cut on Valentine’s Day was pretty lame. I’m sorry about that.”
Me: “Really?” “That’s what you remember about our magical evening?”
Chris: “Yeah. And they didn’t do a very good job either, did they? It looks like it wasn’t even cut.”
I think you can imagine the look I gave him and the hand gesture I used as he was leaving my office.