My body usually tells me when I'm ready for something. Whether it's a new love, another bite of food, or another gulp of liquor, it never fails to send me hints. Unfortunately, I don't always choose to listen. I ignore my tummy's cry for help, as it expands outside its comfort zone when I'm stuffing my face. I even unbutton my pants to make room for dessert! I disregard the tingling in my legs and arms when downing my third Bacardi and Coke. I can have another! I think. So I do. By my fifth drink, my head is spinning, my legs are stumbling, and my stomach is turning. Yet I still manage to avoid my body's signals and take a shot of Tequila. Pass the lemon and salt, please.
By the end of the night, I'm drunkydy, drunk, drunk. I may dance all night like a go-go dancer, cry over a tray of peanuts, or stumble onto my front door. Regardless, my body always punishes me for not heeding her warnings. The next morning I wake up with a pounding in my head and a sour taste in my mouth. I spend the entire day clinging to my bed and praying to the porcelain God.
Besides my food and liquor consumption, my body also sends me hints when it comes to men. When my ex-boyfriend Elijah mentioned his ex-girlfriend over three times on our second date, my blood boiled. My nerves jumped. My mind screamed: He's not over her! Run! But I pushed the vibes away and asked the bartender for a stronger Bacardi and Coke. Similar symptoms kicked in after I began communicating with Daniel, the doctor I met on match.com. My palms sweated throughout our first AIM conversation. I found myself wiping my hands after every click of the Enter button. And my hands trembled when writing down the information for our first date. On the actual day of our date every inch of my body was consumed with doubt. I walked down
A few minutes later, Daniel and I were face-to-face. I smiled and pecked him on the cheek.
"You look exactly like you do in your pictures," he said with a smile.
"I hope that's a good thing," I replied nervously.
"Of course it is."
I smiled and my heart fluttered. First-date jitters, I thought again.
Daniel and I then began walking down
"Do you want to check it out?" He asked.
"Sure," I replied.
We walked into the lounge and I immediately knew I was in trouble. Brick red colored walls, dim lights, cozy couches, draped curtains: it screamed "romantic date spot".
“Do you want to get a table or do you want to sit by the bar?” Daniel asked.
“Let’s just sit by the bar,” I replied. I needed the bartender handy.
Daniel asked what I wanted to drink and I ordered a Bacardi and Coke. As I sipped my drink, Daniel and I made small talk. This is ok, I thought. No big deal. I had another Bacardi and Coke and Daniel had another drink as well. By my third drink, hip-hop pumped from the speakers and Daniel asked me to dance. My body trembled with nervousness while he led me toward the dance floor. I swayed my hips and kept my distance. Daniel moved in a little and my nerves jumped. The hip-hop tunes suddenly changed to reggaeton beats and Daniel wanted to grind. I turned around, shook my ass a little, and then backed away.
“I’m a little tired. Let’s sit down again,” I suggested.
He nodded, but instead of leading me to the bar he led me to an even dimmer room in the back of the lounge. I suddenly found myself in the “secret spot” of the “romantic date spot”. Daniel put his arm around me and my heartbeat grew louder. He leaned in closer and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. My body screamed: He’s going to kiss you! You’re not ready! But I let him kiss me. I let him kiss me and thought of Johnny the entire time. I let him put me in a cab and thought of Johnny on my ride home. And when I called Daniel to tell him I was home, I thought of Johnny and sobbed all over my pillow. There was no ignoring the signals. I felt my body shake. I tasted the salt on my face. I just wasn’t ready.
