Yesterday, two of my coworkers and I headed to Baton Rouge after leaving the office. Two of us were speaking on a panel for the some student design thing at LSU and I decided to tag along at the last minute. Honestly, I just wanted P.F. Chang's and the opportunity to possibly scope out some of the LSU design 'moes. But supporting my co-workers was priority #1, followed by Singapore Street Noodles.
But before leaving, I had to hurry up and get out of a date. I called The Dean from my desk and told him that something had come up and I had to cancel dinner plans. I was honest with him except for saying that I "just found out that I had to go." First off, I'd known about this panel for about a month now. Second, I had zero obligations to attendance. He said that he understood and then asked if I'd like to be his date to some charity event on Saturday. I politely declined, said good-bye, and hung up.
Dean and I had dated for about 7 months in 2008. He was in graduate school at Texas A&M and I was a sophomore in undergrad. Long-distance relationships aren't really my thing, plus I have a very bad habit of wanted to have my cake and eating four other ones at the same time. During our 7 months of "dating," I was less than well behaved. Long story short, Dean moved back to Louisiana after graduation and I decided that living in the same city as my boyfriend wasn't going to work. Like seriously. How did he expect me to bring guys home with if he was always on my couch?
Over the next several months after our break-up, everything started to come out in the wash. Dean had done a little research and found out that I wasn't the innocent 19-year-old angel that he though he'd been dating. Let's just say he was...disappointed. I've forgotten to mention that I was Dean's first boyfriend...and first kiss...and first everything. He was 6 years older than I was, and a super-late bloomer. So for Dean, this news was not only unwelcome; it was devastating.
Years passed and The Dean and I never spoke. He wouldn't even look at me when I walked arm-in-arm with my best friends into Jules. But I didn't blame him. How could I? When friends or new boyfriends would try to get the scoop on our break-up or question my reasons for sleeping around on my boyfriend, I would always blame the dumbest shit. "What did you expect me to do? He lived in Texas!" or "I was 19. I needed to make those mistakes." The truth was that I did it because I wanted to. I had a problem and wanted to explore it. And the worst part: I didn't care about the consequences. But being the bigger person that he is, Dean eventually forgave me and we were able to at least say hello when occasionally running into one another.
And then I woke up in his bed Sunday morning.
I don't really understand/care how this happened, so I just accepted it and rolled over to face the wall and hog the covers. After waking up and splitting a 20-piece order of McNuggets, I kissed him on the forehead and strutted out the door. We made plans via text to hang out again Wednesday evening.
Until the opportunity to eat Chinese food and meet skinny, granola art students came along.
So Dean gave me yet another chance. Maybe this weekend we'll go to dinner and I'll tell him about my evening in Baton Rouge. And maybe I'll leave some parts out. Like the part where we drove past Campus Crossing and I regaled Blake and Amanda with a story about the time I drunk-tricked with a guy in that exact building after jumping the fence and landing ass-first in a puddle of mud.
The Dean wouldn't like that story very much. He knows that I had a boyfriend at the time...
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