"Take a drunk girl home
Let her sleep all alone
Leave her keys on the counter, your number by the phone
Pick up her life she threw on the floor
Leave the hall lights on, walk out and lock the door
That's how she knows the difference between a boy and man
Take a drunk girl home"
These beautiful words, sung by Chris Janson, made every girl's heart flutter. They filled our minds with the fact that chivalry wasn't dead after all. When you normally hear the phrase "take a drunk girl home," it's in reference to a messy, late-night hookup situation. This song changed all of that for me.
I wasn't unrealistic about it. I knew things like this didn't happen often, especially not with people my age.
As involved as I was with the twenty-something year old bar scene, I was tired of it all the same.
Did that stop me from going out Friday nights? Not in the slightest.
Now, the extent of my memory form that night begins and ends with our arrival. However, from what I've been told (and with thanks to the wonders of social media, from what's I've seen on Snapchat *shudders*), it was NOT my night.
I was out like a light on the bathroom floor, and nothing helped to gain back my consciousness.
It was actually quite scary, especially to the friends that I had drunk with before. Not that I'm an alcoholic, but I handle my alcohol pretty well. I've only ever been hungover once or twice that I can remember. And I tend to swallow bottles of wine like a baby does breast milk.
So you can imagine the horror of my dearest friend, James, when he found me in the fetal position at the foot of the porcelain throne.
That poor boy peeled me off the ground (quite literally, as my clothes were matted with vomit) and he held my hair back over the sink and tried to splash some water on my face and down my throat.
Nothing worked.
Eventually, he decided all other efforts would be futile, so he lifted me off my feet and carried me out to the car.
He drove the twenty minutes back to my house with the windows down, blasting my favorite song in hopes that something — anything — would wake me.
When we got to my house, his sweet self tried once again to wake me up and get me inside without disturbing all occupants of my neighborhood during the late hour.
He finally got my legs stable enough to help me stumble into the house, into my room, and finally into my bed.
He didn't try to make any moves on me (unsurprisingly, I guess, since I looked like a swamp creature). Instead, he made sure I got home safely and as intact as one can be while black-out drunk.
He texted me numerous times throughout the night and the following morning, just letting me know he was thinking about me and how hopeful he was that I was OK.
He even asked to see me again. What a guy!
I did, in fact, see him the next day — Gatorade in hand — and we had a great time. Then, that night, we were laying under the stars, and I joked about how now he really knows what he's getting himself into being my friend.
And he turned to me, smiling, and said, "Will you be my girlfriend?"
My whole heart burst.
Chris Janson made girls swoon with his words, and my James made my heart overflow by doing just that.
