On this Tuesday morning, I started the day by getting into a fight with an orange. The orange won.
And it reminded me that around here, Tuesday ALWAYS used to be dedicated to complete disasters -- of the dating kind, that is. A long four months ago, I started the story of Steve and then promptly stopped telling it. Poor Steve! How could I leave him hanging like that? Well, quite easily, really. That's apparently what I do to Steve.
Last February, I left Steve (and myself) hanging at a Halloween party, where Steve had just bravely come to my rescue from the harassment of my friend, G-Man. This despite the fact that G-Man looked like a miniature incredible Hulk and Steve looked like something I could snap in half over my knee if I really wanted to. (this coming from a 5'0" 110# Princess Leah) He also walked with the tiniest bit of a limp and had a voice that was just the slightest bit too high. (He looked like a smaller version of Raj from The Big Bang Theory. In a pair of scrubs.)
How gallant was that? I mean, I had thought that chivalry was dead, but here was some guy walking into what could easily be his complete anihalation to protect a complete stranger in a bar? How could anyone NOT totally love this guy? My crew immediately took him in as an honorary member and we hung with him all night. At the end of the night, we all exchanged cell phone numbers because we were all going to get together EVERY TIME this band played anywhere and be besties for life!
Turns out, I was the only one Steve called.
We kept meeting for outings that I considered friendly get togethers between buddies. Only later did I learn that Steve considered them dates...