I remember very little about the rest of that night, except that I know I went home and cried myself to sleep, or to lack of sleep, probably. After all of the emotional stuff I went through with that man -- his mother's memorial service, spending time with his little boy, watching his child move far away from him -- and THIS is how it ended. Unbelievable. Well, there was only one thing to do now, of course, and as soon as I woke up Saturday morning, that's what I did.
When you go to bed to cry your eyes out, rarely do you take the time out to floss or moisturize. I certainly didn't remove any eye make-up, because when I woke up I looked like this:
(Photo stolen from quino para los amigos on Flickr)
Except with a fresh perm, fuzzy from sleep, which looked like this:
(Photo stolen from these guys)
So we're left with this:
Yes, that's about right. So, miserable as I was, I did the only logical thing: I pulled on a crappy brown sweatshirt -- the same crappy brown sweatshirt I'm wearing at this moment, coincidentally -- and some jeans, and sort of washed my face. Then I climbed into my car and drove to where I knew Nick Asshat's friend was working that morning. I walked up to him bravely, with a determined look in my blurry eyes. He looked at me, recognized me, and said hi.
And I asked him out for a drink.
to be continued . . .