K asked me to accompanying him to a birthday party Saturday evening for one of his best girlfriend’s from high school. We showed up to a fancy house in Cleveland Park, introductions were made, cocktails were distributed. As I settled into the couch, I noticed a girl sitting across from me that looked incredibly familiar. She caught me staring after a minute and I casually asked, “do I know you from somewhere?”
“Um, you’re one of my patients,” she said. Patient meaning the girl sitting across from me was my OB/GYN’s medical assistant. A girl who had stuck me with needles (apparently my veins are hard to find), seen me naked from the waist down, had intimate knowledge of my medical history and during my last appointment witnessed what can only be described as a complete and total meltdown because I was convinced I had cervical cancer (I don’t).
[Side note: As a part of my I-am-a-non-smoker personality, I now use hysterical crying when stressed as a coping mechanism, as opposed to chain smoking Parliament Lights like a mother fucker. Most people of course think the crying is much healthier than smoking but I miss my dignity and pride.]
I responded, “I bet you’re not used to seeing me with my clothes on.” So, needless to say– shit got mildly awkward. Or at least I thought it was awkward, everyone else thought it was funny. I drank 3 glasses of wine in quick succession and took deep breaths. She is in fact a lovely person, but being that I had essentially lost my shit in front of her a month prior, I wasn’t interested in seeing her anywhere, let alone in a social setting. I’m sure under normal circumstances (or when enough time has passed that I view this situation as hysterically funny, as opposed to awkwardly funny) I’d actually quite like to take her out for cocktails.
I was completely under the impression those people– teachers, doctors, shrinks etc., mainly anyone who has intimidate knowledge of your grades, physical or mental state– would never ever ever be someone you’d casually run into on the street. Let alone at their parent’s house for a BBQ. DC is a ridiculously small city sometimes.
Otherwise, the celebration of TB’s day of birth much later Saturday night was a great success– sushi was eaten, dance moves were made, beers consumed and I decided to cap off the night with shots of vodka chased by cheese balls. I felt awesome when I woke up yesterday morning, simply awesome. My hangover begs the quote by Frank Sinatra, “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” Well said, sir.