From experience, I can tell you: conceit is a demon. After four years of promiscuity and success in the military, I created this grandiose image of myself. I was dubbed the “Lady Killer” from friends and peers. Never intimidated by women, I often led them from a bar to my place with ease. Comically enough, this confidence would hold no bearing when I pulled the wrong move at the wrong time, leaving me too embarrassed to speak.
It was the beginning of a cold January and I had just successfully endured my first date with my former ball-and-chain, Lindsay. I invited her over to my friend Justin’s house for a NFL playoff game, despite the fact that this would result in riotous drunkards. The match was between the “Big Blue” New York Giants and the Green Bay Packers. She gracefully accepted my offer as she was quite interested in my looks and quirky personality accompanied by this confidence that she had not seen in the locals. The date was set and so was my demise.
On the evening of the game, I prepared myself consciously by rehearsing dialogue in a manipulative manner. I slicked back my eyebrows as I glared into the mirror, a prisoner of my own vanity. Dressed to impress and inflamed from a quick arm workout, I departed my house to venture to my friends a block away. Lindsay had met me at my friend’s house, negating any form of chivalry on my end; however, I did offer her a ride. As she walked through the door the crowd became silent. She was dressed in a snug, light blue accented sweatshirt with a loose necking that flowed elegantly revealing the brim of collarbone. Tight black leggings attracted me to my mademoiselle in a way that I could not explain. Pure lust came over me at this point, you see, Lindsay is a beautiful woman in any man’s eyes. Her clothing only enhanced her already flawless semblance. Long, curly, brown hair let loose with no restrictions of hair bands, or clips. Her bangs lured attention to her captivating eyes. Hazel oceans: venomous and seductive in nature. “She could peer into any soul with eyes like that,” I thought to myself.
As the game carried on through the night, everyone got a little hungry in the midst of the sporadic roars, chants and pouts caused by the intense game. Lindsay and I decided that we should order food, and to my satisfaction she suggested wings: man’s necessary meal during a big game. “Instant kudos”, I murmured to myself. As I ordered the wings from a restaurant I haven’t tried before, ample warning was given.
“Mad for Chicken will have you shitting for hours!” Justin clamored. Following his hypocritical protest, he devoured a fair portion of food later on. After patiently waiting for the food to be prepared, I left solely to retrieve it as the restaurant didn’t deliver.
The ride was relatively quick and I returned with my Achilles’ heel promptly, rushing with intensity to return to the couch. I was driven by television and sustenance. The sweet and tangy aroma of BBQ and the fixings tempted me to explore the closed delicacies. As we opened the plethora of delight, we immediately lunged for the food, devouring thirty large wings. We left nothing but a wasteland of boxes and skeletal remains. A cauldron-sized potato salad and corn salad reduced to empty Styrofoam containers by the end of the conquest. A gluttonous pig, I made sure to lick off the remainder around the brim. After we consumed the delectable wings, the game was nearing an end and it was very climatic indeed. Once overtime began I began to feel a bit bubbly.
"Oh no! This can’t be happening now,” I said to myself. My stomach took a turn for the worst and I had to maintain composure so Lindsay would keep her best thoughts of me. A growling ache coursed through my stomach as I began to feel the gases brewing in my gut. It was okay though as I was trained in bearing and discipline, Oohrah! When “Big Blue” defeated the Packers, the celebration was momentous. I hardly wanted to leave, but I quickly left with Lindsay to avoid any embarrassment in front of the crew and lady. We said our goodbyes respectfully and made our way to my house. I was playing a dangerous game.
As we sat in her car, funny conversations ensued with random laughs and serious romantic innuendo. I weighed the consequences to leave, but I chose to stay with her rather than call it an early night. Always, Always listen to your gut!
Prideful and over confident, I kept my cool and no longer worried about me having a “slip.” I sat upright to keep myself from feeling the pressure, so it was bearable. I was fascinated by Lindsay and in doing so I made a bad move. I went for a kiss, and just like that, my body betrayed me. I leaned over and suddenly a large burst of flatulence shook the situation. Only silence remained in the warm Lexus on a brisk winter evening.
“Oh my God,” I thought to myself, too humiliated to speak or look Lindsay in the eye. My head was hung low from despair, contemplating how I caved in. I was so close to feeling her warm lips press against mine in romantic passion. I'm pretty sure I died that night and have been in limbo since. The smell was something else as i'm sure the neighbors caught a whiff of the deathly miasma. The windows were slowly sinking much like my heart. As I began to stare up into those gorgeous eyes and reacquaint myself with looking straight, I saw a girl with a widened smile. She began to laugh hysterically. I joined to mask the pain.
“You must be the Lady Killer!” Lindsay said, laughing. As she kissed me the tension was slowly fading away, leaving only my pride torn asunder.