Putting The 'ASS' In Classy...

Usually our society is able to sum up the aristocratic, wealthy, intellectual, good-looking people of the world with one word...CLASSY! That being said I had been asked out by a guy who was in fact all of those things. He was subsequently affluent, strikingly attractive and intellectually sharp. In essence, the quintessential ideal of modern-day male perfection.

He called me the evening before we were scheduled to go out to confirm our plans, which I found to be old-school and charming. He proceeded to enlighten me about the activities that he had planned, which would consist of, but not be limited to, an entire day-'o-fun on Utah Lake. He had organized for us to do some wake-boarding, wave-running, picnicking and frolicking on the water...and because I truly am such an island girl at heart and love anything to do with being around water, I was ecstatic!

He showed up precisely 4 minutes early, complete with all the essentials for the day in tow (i.e. sun block, an extra beach towel, Diet Coke, all of my go-to-snack-selections and even an extra pair of new pink flip-flops in the off-chance that I had forgotten mine)…all of which consequentially put him on the mental check list as “Dateable!”

We arrived at the dock and ever the gentleman, he helped me climb aboard his totally pimped out boat---the entire time asking if I was okay and checking to see if there was anything I needed. I spent the next little while schmoozing with his buddies, trying to get to know them and being extra affable in the hopes of fitting in with these new-found friends. It worked…we ended up talking and laughing the afternoon away.

Mr. Richy McOwnsHisOwnBoat was attentive, assiduous, and doting…so much so that I found it charmingly accommodating when he handed me a bright red Dixie cup and told me he had taken the liberty of getting me a cup of water, in fear that I might possibly become dehydrated. After this sweet gesture I suddenly found him all the more appealing. Somewhere in the hustle and flow of the comings and goings, my red Dixie cup became misplaced, though I remained so utterly preoccupied with the Sun God in front of me I didn’t give it a second thought.  That is until Sir McFrantic VonHysterical noticed that my red cup was no longer in sight.

Our conversation went something like this:

DB: “Where is the drink I gave you?” He inquisitively asked me.

ME: “I’m not sure.” I swiftly replied.

DB: “No! No! No! No! NO!!!” He shouted, so loudly that you could immediately hear the crickets chirping from the shoreline. “THINK! Think about where you last had it and where you would have put it down at. NOW! I need to know where your drink is RIGHT NOW!”

Ummm---sheesh! Tough-friggin'-crowd! I couldn’t help but think that this guy needed to take a chillaxitive. STAT! But I chose to remain calm, cool and collected as I processed what was happening.

ME: “I believe I sat my cup down at the bow of the boat.” Came my unruffled response.

Abruptly, all heads on board simultaneously turned to the front of the boat where one of his 6’4, 325 pound meat-head, gym-rat counter-parts laid totally and completely incapacitated, salivating at the mouth, incapable of moving (minus the occasional convulsions that he'd sporadically lapse into---in between him almost asphyxiating on his own vomit) and all due to him imbibing an entire red Dixie cup full to the brim of water, that also happened to be laced with G.H.B.---or in layman’s term: The-Apparent-UC-Date-Rape-Drug-Of-Choice.  

If your date attempts to give you G.H.B.---

UNDATABLE!