Confessions of A Naughty Girl

Add some hair, and it's me, honestly.

Suffice it to say that it's hard to be smooth around someone that makes you go completely weak at the knees. I knew that The One That Gets Away and I would be talking this week, and considering our other conversations (with the exception of the drunken ones) have been less than substantive, I was hoping that when he called, I would be the following: 1) ladylike, 2) nonchalant, and 3) aloof. After a lengthy, in-depth assessment after the fact, it would behoove me to admit that I failed on all three counts.

It started badly, when he called tonight to say that he really wanted to see me before I left, and I all-too-anxiously agreed. When he asked how my day was, and I told him that I had gotten home around 7:45 pm, he kind of gasped over the phone in awe and mentioned something to the effect that I really did what it took to get ahead. I replied with, "Well yeah, the long hours help, but the BJ's under the desk during the workday don't hurt either." Thankfully, he laughed, but despite trying my best to recover from that comment, which is ordinarily one I would reserve only for close friends, the wheels really only fell off the bus from there. I mean, who the hell do I think I am? What am I portraying to this guy?

Midway through the conversation, when we were trying to figure out the whens, the wheres, and the buts (no pun intended), he told me it was my choice, and I was like, "Hmm...well, let's play a game called 'Options'." Excellent. I am now making up games based on stream of consciousness. I gave him a couple of choices, including my very chaste reference to "the Tip of the Cock", otherwise known as the 95th floor bar of the John Hancock building. Awesome, I'm sure he saw no ulterior motive there, really.

The best part came towards the end of the conversation, when he said that we would probably have fun no matter where we went. A very nice thing to say, to which I replied, "Yeah, I'm excited. I think I just peed my pants!" I received a returned, but convincingly so, "I'm excited too", but I'm pretty sure that at this point, he was wondering how many hits I had dropped before I picked up the phone tonight. I'm sure that the last comment really sealed the deal, what with my painting such a pretty picture. The best part is that I really didn't wet myself, I was simply using the expression to illustrate how ladylike, nonchalant, and aloof I really was.

So after a good solid evening of packing, drinking more wine (the vintage Shiraz my boss gave me for Christmas last year), and overanalyzing my stupidity and lack of conversational skill, I am going to spend the next two days trying to figure out how to undo my poor impression. Suggestions would be helpful here.