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Kitchen floors, as much fun as they sound, are not conducive at all to having sex. I thought my back was going to break like the condom we used. But I didnt have to worry about spending too much time on the hardwood floor because my dog decided he wanted to join us and that pretty much finished us off.

If you think, even for a second, that this was my most embarrassing encounter, you are so very, very wrong. I would much prefer my dog try, and fail, to lick my boyfriend to the other situations Ive put myself in.

He was six-foot-seven. Lets just say everything was proportional. He called me one night and asked if I wanted to hang out, but Im pretty sure and I could be wrong that, in retrospect, he probably wanted more. We had gone on one date and hung out a few times about a month before. Then he left town and I never talked to him again until the night that he called, aroused by stupidity, and asked if he could drive five hours to see meor sleep with me, whichever. Over the phone, he kept telling me how much he loved me and how much he wanted to be with me. After one date. Im just that good. Keep that in mind for the rest of this story because I go downhill from here

By the time he got to my house, I guess hed forgotten his pledge of love. He lay in my lap while he talked about all the women at his school who adore him, just before deciding that we should be friends until we could really be together and be committed. I had never, not once, not a single time throughout this whole thing, said I wanted to be anything with him. I didnt. I didnt want to date him or be his friend or listen to him change his mind ten times without realizing hed ever said anything different. One oclock in the morning is a little late to be confessing friend feelings while trying to unbutton my pants. So, I did what every woman offered friends-with-benefits from a guy they dont even like does I slept with him.

The point of this story is not only for its hysterical value;

you may or may not have caught that, but hysteria was undeniably my reaction. When I woke up the next morning, I had to walk around the house just to make sure there were signs that hed been there, because otherwise I would have believed it was a sex dream. Or, more accurately, a sex nightmare. But no, alas, it had come to be my larger-than-life reality as the disarray of the family room proved to me. The irony of it being in the family room is not lost on me and I choose to place my faith in the reader that it is not lost on you, either. But if you need further explanation, Google Sigmund Freud.

Regardless, I find that my self-destructive behavior can serve a purpose. Currently, it is the way in which I keep myself sane. I know it seems somewhat counter-intuitive, but I laugh at my own expense:
through my experiences, maybe I will at least learn to be cautious next time. Besides, now I always have a story to tell. Sometimes, unfortunately, these stories seem to repeat themselves because I dont often learn the right lesson. I am a creature of habitual mistakes. And history manages to repeat itself. Maybe next time Ill put my dog outside.