Surviving the Walk of Shame

 Two weeks ago, I hooked up with this guy John. When I say “hooked up,” I mean we engaged in a deep passionate make-out session with some erotic bonuses, but no home run. 

   This was our second middle-of-the-night meeting. The first time we watched Food Network until 4:00 a.m., while he drank countless Coors Lights, and I left without one kiss. I was discouraged by his inability to make the first move, so I swore him off – for a while, at least.

   John and I were chatting on Facebook at 2 a.m. when I told him I was coming over. I drove to his house during a blizzard, just to get a little action. First, we watched TV and when he showed no signs of initiating things, I leaned over and dove right in. This was the first time we had done anything more than a good night hug, so it was awkward. When he turned one way, I went the other. He seemed nervous and hesitant, but we enjoyed ourselves despite the sluggish start.

   It was 4:30 a.m. when we decided to go to sleep. As I crawled in next to him on his unfolded futon, I contemplated going home. But the roads were too bad, I decided, so we curled up under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

   I woke up at 9 a.m. and thought my bladder was going to explode. John’s bedroom is in the basement of his parents’ house, and his father has a desk downstairs. I heard a noise and realized that John’s dad was awake and on the computer at the very moment I was about to pee my pants!

   I peeked around the corner and saw John Sr. staring at the monitor. Luckily, he didn’t see or hear me. I went back to the futon to assess my options:  I could walk straight to the bathroom and pretend I didn’t see him; I could say good morning, smile awkwardly and make my way to the toilet; or I could pack all my stuff, book it past him and never look back.

   I chose a blend of two and three, but who really knows what’s happening when one is taking the Walk of Shame. I tiptoed out of John’s room, grabbed my coat, keys, and wallet and hurried back into the hallway.  I coughed to let John Sr. know I was coming.

   “Hi,” I muttered as I slunk past him. I knew what he was thinking: This girl just spent the night with my son—good for him!

   “Hi,” he responded with a slight grin.

   “How are you?” I asked.

   “Good.” 

   With that said, I hustled up the stairs and made it to the bathroom just in time.
   I thought I was home free as I trudged through the slush to my car, but to my horror it was half covered by three feet of snow! The plows had come and completely blocked me in.  There was no way out—I had to go back in the house.

   As I walked back, I saw John Sr. on the porch, watching as I stumbled through the snow banks in my sneakers. When I reached the door I heard John’s mom in the kitchen. Oh god, I thought -- the Double Walk of Shame.

John’s mom invited me to the table for coffee. We sat awkwardly in silence for a few minutes while John and his Dad shoveled the area around my car. They couldn’t finish fast enough — I had to get the hell out of there!

   By the time the guys had finished, I had endured an entire hour of shame. I made it safely down the slippery driveway and into my car, but when I tried to take off the car was stuck. John laughed as I shifted from reverse back to first gear, trying to get away. Just when I thought I couldn’t slip any lower into this epitome of humiliation, my car took off.

   On the drive home I couldn’t help but wonder — was it worth it? For the last hour I endured more embarrassment than I have in a lifetime, and for what? A meaningless, humdrum make-out fest?

   Of course it was worth it! We all need a scandalous hook up every now and then to keep our love lives sizzling. I have desires that need to be met, no matter how mortifying the next morning could be. So next time you find yourself taking the Walk of Shame, keep your chin up, say hello and scurry for the door. Hopefully nothing else will get in your way!