call me chelsea.

When I was in second grade, I had a dress that I adored. It was purple and silky and was fit more for a toddler (which is how old I was when my mom got me the dress), but every once in a while I would dig it out of the costume box – how it always ended up there I have no idea, maybe my mom was trying to discourage me from actually wearing it? – and wear it to school.  And one day, as we all ran outside for recess, Heidi Schuster told everyone you could see my purple Monday panties through my dress AND YOU TOTALLY COULD.   Sidenote: Heidi Schuster is also the girl that stole my bofyi Jake Pinocchio from me by kissing him during recess right after I won the Principal’s Award.  That recess slut. 

What happened on my date the other night is much more humiliating (yet also more hilarious?) than my undie incident with Heidi. 

On Friday, C picked me up and I was excited! I had been looking forward to this date for days!  He thought I was a cool girl! Cool enough to ask me out for a third date!  Cool enough that he thought about me and would occasionally let me know by texting me!  Good old C.

We went to Café Rio, chatted (or, as I like to say these days, chadded) in line for about 15 minutes, and things were off to a good start.  At one point, we even planned our fourth date! This guy MUST be into me, no??  After we get our food, we walk around looking for a table, and he spots a couple he knows so we stop and say hi to them.  After a few seconds, C turns towards me and says,

“Oh, I’m sorry, this is my date Chelsea.”

…

………..

Chelsea.

Looking back, I should have let him save face and then later asked him politely if he remembered my name is Christina? Instead, I say,

“It’s actually Christina.  But it’s nice to meet you guys!”

In retrospect, I realize what I did was bratty and absolutely made everyone feel uncomfortable.  Including myself.  I could have been Chelsea for just those few minutes!  Poor C, he felt so bad.  He kept apologizing, and – as a coping mechanism or some sick talent I have to tease – I would make jokes about Chelsea. For instance, after dinner, he said, “Hey I was thinking about checking out the BYU basketball game, does that sound good?” I assumed he meant we would go to his apartment or something to watch the game, so I said Yes! That sounds great! But when we pulled up to the Marriott center, I realized he actually meant we were going to the game. 

“Oh. We’re actually going to the game?”

“Yeah!  You have a sports pass, don’t you?”

“Oh my gosh, I don’t!”

“That’s so fine, we’ll just go back to my place and watch it!”

“Dang it, I feel so bad. You know, you can just drop me off and go pick up Chelsea. I’m sure she has a sports pass.”

I’m the worst.  


(But really, I'm not. Because who in this scenario is the one that forgot their date's name? Not me.)