It was the day before Thanksgiving.

My friends and I gathered for a dinner of tapas at this Spanish restaurant in the East Village. The table was overflowing with sangria, rioja, and even cigarettes. The owners were feeling generous and let us smoke at the table. Because it’s the holidays and because we have just injected ourselves with gallons of sugary red wine concoctions, we are feeling buoyant and boisterous.

And lustful.

We go to two more bars afterwards. After pounding a pint of some German beer, I feel a warm buzz encroaching on my entire body–a signal that I should go to bed. But someone then invites everyone to their apartment and we all agree to meet over there for more drinking.

He offers to walk me there.

Somehow we manage to be the first people to arrive at the friend’s apartment building. As we wait for the others to show up, I try to let the cold wind slap some sobriety into me.

I don’t know how it happened exactly.

But out of the corner of my eye I see him lean in closer to me.
He is a tall fellow.
Is he going to fall on me?
“Come here,” he says.
What?
Then he kisses me.
There we are, with both hands inside our coat pockets, with winter’s tendrils tickling our faces, and he sneaks me the sweetest, gentlest kiss ever.

And I have to puke.

I tell him I have to go home. I invite him over. My gut instincts are literally telling me to go home and use the bathroom and for some reason I see that as an opportunity to invite this boy–who I don’t know very well!–over to my apartment for a night of seduction.

Genius.

So we walk back to my apartment and as soon as we walk in I realize that I can’t control the room from spinning like a centrifuge.
I tell him he has to leave.
He gives me this confused look.
Then I burp.
And he laughs.
Had I been sober I would have said something like, “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry” but instead I just wave him goodbye and run to the bathroom.

The gods governing my love life must have groaned that evening. They actually throw me a bone and I ruin a romantic moment by having issues with my digestive system.

But after that incident, he actually asked me out to dinner. And we ended up going out a few times.

So I guess the lesson is that if you do stupid shit when you are drunk, sometimes the guy won’t care (or remember) because he was drunk too.

Or maybe the gods governing over your love life will toss you a “get out of jail free” card once in a while.