Don't Forget the Pepper Spray (Second Edition). Kristen Marie
I would never take him to my house, he stormed back to the bar, returning with a couple of shots that he drank himself.
Things went downhill fast from then on. Chad could barely hold his pool stick steady, let alone sink any of the balls. He began making very rude, sexist comments toward me and continued to ask me when I would be taking him home so he could have his way with me. I continued to tell him that would not be happening. The final straw was when he whispered into my ear that I should remember that he was carrying a gun and that I had better plan to take him home with me.
Suddenly Chad became “Short, Overweight, Cheap, Annoying, SCARY Guy with a Gun.” I had to think fast. Chad was way too drunk to drive anywhere let alone to be carrying a gun. Cute, pool-playing guy, Brett, came up to me and asked if there was a problem. Apparently my fear was showing in my face. Chad pulled his gun slightly out of his pocket and told Brett to go away. Brett looked at me with concern and I mouthed, “Help.”
“Brilliant, Sexy, Pool-Playing Guy named Brett” at that moment turned to Chad, patted him on the back and said, “Buddy, let me buy you another drink.” He took him to the bar, sat him down, took his keys from him and handed them to the bartender. He informed the bartender that Chad had a concealed weapon then he grabbed my hand and my coat and we high-tailed it out of there never to see poor, pathetic, Chad again.
Brett drove me back to my car, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and asked for my number. We ended up dating for a while.
Sometimes nightmares do have happy endings, but I still wish I had remembered to bring my pepper spray.
ONE WAY TO GET TO THIRD BASE
I couldn’t wait to get out of work on date nights. I wasn’t a big dater, but leaving the begrudging duties of guarding a pool for the fun of dinner and a movie was always exciting. I had only been on one other date with this guy, James. The first date was very typical, but still good. We had met through mutual friends, spent a little time together in groups and finally he mustered up the courage to ask me out. Date number one went perfect. Dinner, shared dessert, a funny movie, exchanging of phone numbers, nothing more. It was simple and relaxed; perfect! James was a really sweet guy. Seventeen years old at the time, handsome and thin, red hair and a small goatee. He pulled the chair out for me, opened the doors, paid for everything, and was a perfect gentleman. Needless to say, when I left work that day to get ready for date number two, I was really excited that this guy might be the beginning of something serious.
I got home and went through the usual pre-dating ritual. Long shower, shaving my legs to perfection, though I didn’t really plan on letting him touch them. Nail touch-ups, hair, and perfect makeup. I felt really ready. Something special was going to happen with this guy, I just knew it! He picked me up early. Love it! He had his red hair over-gelled, so spiky that not a single strand of it moved from the wind or even when he rubbed his hand over it. He smelled great, looked great, and had a single red rose for me when I opened the door. Like I said, he’s something special. He had obviously washed his green explorer and vacuumed the inside in preparation for our date.
He kept the night simple and fun. I had mentioned at our previous date that I love to eat dessert before dinner because, let’s face it, it’s what I really want and I always run out of room because of dinner. Remembering that, we headed for Cold Stone first thing. I loved that. We each got an ice cream cone and walked around a trendy little shopping area, browsing boutiques and chatting. After ice cream, we went to a miniature golf course. I hadn’t been to one of these in years, but it was a unique idea, so I’ll give him that. We got our clubs, battling over who got to keep the green ball and who had to take the lame yellow one. We were sipping lemonade, nibbling caramel corn, and were about the play the fourth hole when he leaned in for our first small kiss. It was almost poetic: the sound of the theme from Jurassic Park playing in the background, a half-sunken plane in the waterfall on hole number five behind us, and right after he kissed me the volcano erupted in a propane-fueled fireball. Okay, not the most romantic place, but cute nonetheless. The night was going perfect, but then we began hole number six.
Hole number six had a bridge that led your ball over a large amount of foliage: bushes, flowers, small shrubs, and a small creek. If your ball didn’t make it all the way over the bridge, it was shot far away from the hole. I told James that if he got a hole in one, I might kiss him again. He told me, he’d try all night to get that kiss, even if it meant re-putting this hole thirty times. We were smiling and shoving lightly; flirting shamelessly. He gave the yellow ball a mighty whack; it slammed into the rim of the bridge and was gone. He snatched the green ball from me and gave it an even harder hit. This time, the ball shot off the side of the bridge and into the water. Being the total sweet guy he is, and trying to show off a little bit, James shouted out that he would never lose my green ball and he leapt over the bridge, diving head first into the bushes in search of the ball. He crawled around down there, pretending to fight off the evil within the hidden foliage. He rolled from one side of the river to the other like James Bond. He was being such a spaz and I loved it!
Finally, James spotted the ball. It was wedged between a couple of flowers on one side of the river and sort of sunken down into the ground. He, again, dove head first into the bushes to dislodge the ball and return it valiantly to me. Immediately after his body disappeared into the foliage, the most horrible and terrifying shrieks began rising up from the bushes. The screams were louder than the volcano erupting in the background and for a minute, the entire miniature golf course went completely silent. James popped up from the ground, swatting, and covered in red, puss-leaking quarter size welts all over his face. He screamed at me to run and I followed him. I hadn’t seen what we were running from yet, but it must have been bad because the entire golf course was running as well. Soccer moms were grabbing their kids and sippie-cups, dashing for their minivans. I turned to look. A huge swarm of hornets was chasing after all of us with the fury that could only come from having their home crushed by a crazy flirting man.
Everyone was running. Children were screaming and dropping ice cream cones as their parents scooped them up. I passed James who was slowing down a little bit, starting to grab at his throat. I could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had obviously called the paramedics after seeing James covered in welts. I ran as fast as I could till I made it to James’s truck. I only looked back when I realized that the doors weren’t unlocked yet. James was fifteen feet behind me, lying on the asphalt of the parking lot. The hornets were covering him in a yellow and black cloud and he was rolling back and forth and screaming. I was terrified, but did the right thing. I spotted a mom leaving the course with a full water bottle in her hand. I stole it without a word and ran to James. I was already being stung and bit, but I dumped the contents of the water bottle on James and the hornets, grabbed him under the arms and began to drag him to the truck. A man got out of his car and helped me. We swatted the hornets and dumped James inside the truck. What few hornets made it in were crushed within minutes by my fists of adrenaline and fear.
I finally had time to examine my poor date. He was covered, every inch of him, in welts that were growing to the size of a softball. They were bleeding, oozing, and bright red. His eyes were so swollen that he couldn’t even see me. He was trying to speak but his throat wasn’t allowing any words out. I squeezed his hand and told him it would be all right, but I’m not sure he even heard me because that was the instant that his throat closed completely. He began to gag and spit, gasp, claw, and thrash. My handsome and perfect date had turned into a swollen and suddenly unconscious man. I didn’t know what to do. The hornets were still all over the truck and the ambulance wasn’t here yet. I jumped out, screaming for anyone with CPR or first aid experience to help me.
A woman left the safety of her SUV, and asked what was wrong. I explained that he wasn’t breathing and she, already being stung by the swarm that was attacking me, reached into her purse and threw her child’s epi-pen at me, and jumped back in her car. By now, I think I had been stung more than thirty times. I was beginning to swell and was in so much pain I could barely think. I flew into the truck. James had been unconscious now for about forty-five seconds and was no longer breathing. I read the instructions while swatting at the remaining pests. “In case of extreme allergic reaction, remove