On a 3-day business trip I became chummy with a heavy-set guy who worked in our company’s office in Washington, DC, where my work meetings were being held. We hung out a couple of nights over drinks which culminated in one final night of drunken idiocy. It started at the W hotel where we got drunk on martinis with a couple of mutual work friends. By 6pm I had decided I would take a later train to New York (the next stop on my work trip). Fast forward a few hours though and martinis at the W led to drinks a bar in Georgetown, which led to another bar, which led to me shit-faced, sitting on this guy’s lap and thinking he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I digress. At some point “we” decided I would stay at his place, wake up at the crack of dawn and take the first train in the morning to be back for meetings in NYC.
Back at his place we messily and briefly hooked up before I passed out and awoke to the blare of my alarm at 4:45am. I was still drunk as I turned the light on next to the bed and saw… an autographed framed photo of the guy and NEWT GINGRICH grinning arm-in-arm staring back into my face. Scary.
I gathered my things, caught a cab and was off. After sleeping on the train, drinking a large coffee, and trying to snap our of the haze, I was back at my desk in NYC when he IM’ed me over the company instant messaging system. After some initial pleasantries he skipped right to the awkwardness.
Him: So, how are your inner thighs feeling?
Me: Um, what??
Him: They must be chafed from my beard, spending so much time down there last night
Yup, a smiley face after talking about “chafing my thighs” (an act I don’t honestly recall) on the company instant messenger. Gross. Awkward. SFAR.
Image via: Source