Dating Tales

OK. So my friend Julie didn’t actually rupture her cervix, but she had a LEEP procedure earlier that week and suffered serious cramping and bleeding after riding the bike.

Women who have abnormal pap smears as a result of the sexually-transmitted human papillomavirus (HPV) often times have a LEEP procedure, which essentially removes cancerous or pre-cancerous cells from the cervix. Turns out you should avoid some types of exercise for awhile until your cervix has had time to heal. And, no sex or tampons.

After hearing Julie’s scary story I’ve been online trying to learn more about HPV, the LEEP procedure itself, and what to do afterwards. There is a lot to learn and I think all of us should educate ourselves, so ask your doctor and do research.

As for some of the facts, get this: 20 million people are infected with HPV and by age 50, 80 percent of women will have the infection.

Fortunately for Julie she has had frequent enough treatment that she will most likely avoid cancer, however, for the last three years she’s had more doctors and nurses up her hoo-ha than she’d like to think about. And it’s not over. She has what’s called a colposcopy scheduled every three months for the next year.

Most of us have heard about HPV because of the vaccine Gardasil that is advertised on TV and online, but it seems to me that what’s really important is to have regular pap smears. Compared to the colposcopy, the LEEP and all the rest, a pap is walk in the park.

Ladies, there’s no reason not to get in there and spread em’.

My day job is in marketing and PR. I recently attended a conference in Orlando as an exhibitor where I met an older, friendly couple familiar with the area. They were both very talkative and eager to tell me about local restaurants and attractions that didn’t involve the ever-so-prevalent mouse (as in Mickey). They were also eager to talk about the hotel they were staying at and how unhappy they were with the accommodations.

Moments after the converstaion ended and the couple walked away from my booth, the man came back.

“We’re married. We have different last names, but I just want you to know she’s my wife. I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression about us sharing a hotel room.”

My reaction was delayed. I heard the words that were coming out of his mouth, but I didn’t understand why he was telling me.  I smiled, laughed a little, and responded with: “uh, no problem.”

I didn’t get it. Why did he care what I thought? But then I realized it wasn’t so much me that he cared about. He was protecting her honor. As old-fashioned as it is, and even though I don’t necessarily agree with it (women should keep their names if they want to and sleep with men they aren’t married to for that matter) it is romantic to see a man who respects his wife so much that he doesn’t want a perfect stranger to misunderstand her.

The feeling starts below the back side of my rib cage. My back aches and my sides are tight. The discomfort moves up my back to my shoulders where knuckle-sized knots have made their home. I’m tense all over. The pain spreads out along my upper arms and all the while continues up my neck and then to what seems like a grand finish at the back of my head with a headache.

Three months ago I went to my doctor to talk about this aggravating ending in my head and I learned that my headache is a direct result of a 15-hour day in stilettos. The feeling may start in my back, but the damage painlessly begins at my toes, which I now cannot feel.

This tortuous 15-hour-day I refer to was initiated by a demanding bride whose aim was to have five glamorous bridesmaids.

I wonder if I will still look glamorous with only four real toes.

I justified the $400 purchase from Christian Dior for this one time event because the shoes were cute. The shoes were gold and did have gemstones. If I had known then that I’d lose a toe and five grand over it I might not have been so agreeable and fought harder for the $90 pair of NineWests. If I had known then that my future involved a lifetime of closed toe shoes and short term financial ruin I might have voted for the $50 pair of Mudds.

The day at the wedding and half of the night at the reception I sported the gorgeous pumps with style. But it’s true, later that night I became that cliche bridesmaid. I had my glass of wine in one hand and the straps of my shoes hanging off my fingertips of the other hand. I’m not proud of these moments certainly captured in photos, but the whole situation was motivated by my throbbing and aching feet. When the clock struck midnight, and after the encouragement of the bride’s mother, I put the shoes back on my sore feet and limped back to my hotel room.

Things changed at this moment. The throbbing and aching in the ball of my right foot was replaced by a strange tingling sensation that ran from my toes to my knee. I blamed it on the wine.

A few hours later when I woke from my stupor I stood up to realize I could no longer feel the bottom of my right foot or the tips of all five toes. I inspected the bottom of my feet and discovered blisters and the beginning of calluses like I’ve never seen before. At this moment I opened the sliding glass door of my hotel room and threw the gorgeous gold and gemstone stilettos over the balcony and into the pool. As I watched the shoes tumble to their end, I couldn’t help but notice my toe-prints on the gold fabric.

Now, three months later, after a few visits to my podiatrist I still have not regained the ever-so-delightful feeling of my baby toe. The thought of missing a body part had never occurred to me until the moment my doctor handed me a Q&A pamphlet on toe reduction.

You say: So what? It is just a little piggy. But I say: It’s my little piggy and I want it to come home with me.

But, as it turns out, my little piggy is blue and is not coming home with me after all. So here I am in my podiatrist’s office looking at a catalog of prosthetic toes and learning that of all my options a plastic toe without a toenail is the most economical purchase. If I buy now, it’s only $4500.

Toenails are extra.

Recently I received a forwarded e-mail on funny things kids say about dating. This is one of the questions asked.

Q: A first date turns sour. What do you do?
A: I would go home and play dead. The next day I’d want to be in the dead columns so I’d call the newspapers.

Funny thing is that I think there are some adults who might say the same thing.

There are many common mistakes to avoid when trying to get out of a bad date or a second date. I promise it’s easier than playing dead.

Lies: Mistake Number One
Just say, “No thanks on the drink. I’m really not up for it. Cliche as it is, honesty is a good policy and it will save you the guilt.

Excuses: Mistake Number Two
Instead of agreeing to mow your mom’s neighbor’s lawn, just tell the person you don’t want to go out with them again.

Postponements: Mistake Number Three
I don’t have time tonight, can we reschedule next week?

I know I’m guilty of saying this, and then I just don’t call. Say, “Thanks, but no thanks” and avoid the stress that you don’t need.

Don’t Call: Mistake Number Four
If you say you’re going to call, you should do what you say. If you decide to blow that person off, you have a 50/50 chance of that person actually getting the hint. Fifty percent of us will think of every reason possible for not getting a call from you. Like, maybe he lost my number? Maybe I was supposed to call him? Or, maybe he didn’t know what day we planned on? I think its better to not promise the call in the first place, but if you do, say, “It was great, but I’m not going that direction.”

Let’s hope you get voice mail.

Let’s Be Friends: Mistake Number Five
I doubt you want to be friends with the guy that clipped his nails in front of the restaurant where you met for dinner. Although asking him to be your friend will soften the blow, don’t say it unless you mean it. Some people will think there is still a chance for something more, and the others might believe that it’s actually true.

Seeing Someone Else: Mistake Number Six
This is the one time it’s alright to lie. You might as well have said, There is someone better than you. Ouch.

Go Anyway: Mistake Number Seven
It’s even harder to get out of a third date than to get out of the last half of the first or the second date altogether. Cut your ties sooner, it’s better.

A lot of times you don’t have to explain why you don’t want another date. But if you do, just be honest. It’s perfectly fine to not like someone after a date with or without a good reason.

Last year I had a boyfriend, well I’m not sure if he was my boyfriend since we only made it to that weird six-week mark when it feels too soon to talk about what you are, yet you still see each other three or four times a week. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Bob–we’ll just call him that–rarely went to sleep with me.

Because it was so early in the relationship I didn’t feel I could give him the third-degree about not falling asleep with me. I was confused, though, and so I would just ask casually: “Couldn’t you sleep last night?” or “Would you rather sleep alone tonight?” He would respond with, “Nope, slept just fine” or “No, I’d really like you to stay.”

Finally, one night at 12:30 when the other side of the bed was still empty I got up to see exactly what kept him up so late. I found Bob sitting at the kitchen table with five huge piles of tic tacs and something like 40 little tic tac canisters before him. He said, “Hey. Can’t you sleep?”

I was speechless.

I sat down at the table and watched him for awhile. Ever so delicately he took one spearmint tic tac from a pile and placed it in one of the containers. He then took a little flavorful nugget from the orange pile, then from the lime, then from the wintergreen and then finally from the cinnamon pile. I watched him do this for about 10 minutes at which point he had filled close to three of the canisters with the tic tac assortment.

I asked, “Do you do this with all kinds of candy?”

“Nope, just tic tacs.”

Sitting quiet another minute I said, “Yah, I can’t sleep so I think I’ll go home.”

The weirdest part wasn’t that Bob filled tic tac canisters one at a time, but that he didn’t offer an explanation for his behavior.

Neither one of us called again after that night. Bob was a good guy, but I can’t be with someone who likes tic tacs THAT much. I can’t compete. I’m not minty.