January 10, 2004 :: Nickel-plated contemplation

So I had a date with this girl last night... a first date. The whole premise was bad news... I met her in a bar last week, and we got into a "discussion" about who could drink more and who had the better tolerance. She claimed she could hold her own, so we set a date where we knew neither of us had to work the next day.

We went to an African club called Izora in Silver Spring that actually turned out to be nicer than I expected. We had 2 vodka martinis and 2 shots of tequila each, and since her friend is the owner's girlfriend, we only had to pay for half of it. I also had 5 jerk chicken wings, and water. She had one wing (the southern girl in her couldn't handle the spices! should have been a sign) and no water.

We moved on to another spot in Adams Morgan called Fasika. She was showing tipsiness, but still on her feet. We each had a shot of remy and a shot of tequila... and she started getting wobbly. Then I got a shot of tequila for myself, which she snatched and drank most of, and then when I got a replacement she drank that one too. By the end of the night, her boogie was all gone and she was done. Victory! I claimed her car keys (no lectures please). It wasn't the type of victory to savor though, as she made a call to Earl before I pulled out of the spot. I drove her behemoth Ford Expedition all the way back to her apartment in Virginia, after which time I was quite tired. She somehow managed to weave her way into pajamas and a hair wrap and plop into her bed. I was going to let myself out, but I saw I could not lock the door on my way out since there was only a deadbolt. I went back into the bedroom, and she was mildly aware, but unwilling to get up out of the bed to let me out. I decided to stay there, and got into the bed in my beater and boxers.

Alcoholic sleep is usually the most blissful, because it's devoid of memorable dreams, and nothing wakes you up. Sleeping in a strange house is sometimes a problem for me, but I was knocked out... almost. Woke up around 4am, rolled over and shoved my hands under my pillow to reposition it, and came out with a nickel-plated pistol. I said to her, "hey, there's a pistol under my pillow!" She said, "oh yeah, I forgot about that." But alcoholic sleep beckoned, and I *very* gingerly slid the pistol under the bed and went back to sleep.

Now, I've known other women who owned firearms, none who actually slept with it under the pillow. I dated a cop once, and after that experience decided I would never date a cop again, and I am wary of women with firearms, but it isn't unprecedented in my life.

The next morning, after we woke up, shared our collective misery and drank water like a Bedouin at an oasis, I asked her if she had bought the gun herself or if it had been a gift. She was reticent to discuss it, grudgingly admitting it was a gift, "sorta." Of course, I knew there was a story there. All I was able to get out of her was that she had "had a bad breakup", and felt the need to protect herself. Now, this woman travels frequently for a living, and the relationship she spoke of didn't occur anywhere near this area, yet she still has it there. That means she thinks he's going to show up one day, and she needs a pistol to deal with him.

That means I don't want to be there when (A) he does come back, and I am in the middle of a domestic dispute involving a firearm, or (B) she decides she doesn't want to deal with me anymore and uses the firearm to inform me.

Am I wrong in this assessment? I don't think so.

posted by Rainmayun at 8:26 PM -