The Walks of SHAME

The walk of shame! Oh, how our friendship has bloomed over the years.  I will admit I have clocked a marathon or two of miles doing the walk of shame. But come on, kids - I am 31year old who can  counted  her 3 to 4 month patchy relationships on one hand, however I can firmly say that counting my walks of shame on one hand is no longer a possibility. Many may find this sad, yet I am very comfortable with my singledom.

There is something very freeing in the activities that are the precursors to the walk of shame. In my extensive experience, I find that when you go home with someone who you know you’ll have no future with (because let’s be honest – do you really want a relationship with a guy you slept with on the first night?), he is there for one purpose and one purpose only, there is no need for niceties like remembering their name and tender foreplay. Just get ‘er going so you can get what you need and get to sleeping off the hangover. There are some who believe they have to be emotionally involved to have good sex but I definitely do not prescribe to that school of thought – good sex is mechanical and mentally satisfying sex is emotional. On most occasions, I have found the walks of shame satisfy the mechanical just fine. Unless you get a jack rabbit! There is no helping a jack rabbit, even when you are screaming direction like a drill sergeant. They have one move with one speed and you might as well starfish and hope he ends quickly or, as the efficient women we are, start sleeping off the hangover because a) he won’t notice and b) do you really care if he does?

Contrary to popular belief (again, through my aforementioned extensive research, I have found that statistically jackrabbits are few and far between), normally the gentlemen are good times, making the inconveniences of the walk of shame palatable. You know the inconveniences I am talking about: brushing your teeth with your finger, the question of what to do with your underwear (Wear it? Put it in your pocket? What if this is the day you get hit by a bus – and the paramedic is super hot and you do want a relationship, last night’s g-string in your back pocket is not giving off the best first impression…), the lack of deodorant because you cannot steal some of his because seriously that is not just a bit unhygienic (ironic, because what you were doing the night before was sanitary?!) and boys’ deodorant smells like boy – a dead give away to the cute paramedic even if he did not check your back pocket and just assumed you enjoy going commando. And my favorite – the glossy sheen your hair takes after a night of carnal sex and sweaty, drunken half-assed sleep.

But again, the pros outweigh the cons as a single 31 year old who has been told she is in her sexual prime. (Which, incidentally, is depressing. This is it? Really, I am just getting started and it is supposed to go downhill from here on out?) Unless all you get are the cons – like I was subjected to this week. Twice!!!

The first such unnecessary miles were clocked Thursday morning after the Wednesday night riots in Vancouver.  The media attributed the cause to the Vancouver Canucks losing the Stanley Cup in Game 7 AGAIN! But I know better, it is because men in this city are mostly douche bags. Wednesday night was another shining example of why I am single in this city. Seriously, the highlight of the evening was picking out cheese at Urban Fair with an out-of-town friend who jokingly tried to incite a riot by pretending to throw a sweet potato. Yeah, we are total rebels.  Seriously, Vancouver’s jack asses were setting cars on fire, destroying store fronts, and looting, and I was trapped downtown because all bus service was stopped.  Luckily, a friend put me up for the night. Yet at 10am the next morning with the sheen on my head acting as a solar panel I completed my walk of shame. And though it was enjoyable to spend time with friends watching our city get destroyed, it was definitely not worth the Thursday morning inconveniences.

The second walk of shame was actually more painful than the first, as a result of the amount of alcohol I chose to consume the evening before. The day started out innocently enough. We attended a soccer game, then some après drink fun followed by more après après drinks. It was when my lovely married friend Lucy (whose husband was out of town) and Mr. Sweet Potato from Wednesday night decided to take the party back to Lucy’s and continue drinking after the bars closed that I realized another pro-lacking walk of shame was imminent. This lasted until 5am. I am actually floored that I lasted that long because, like the faux princess I am, I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.  Now, as a result of my current financial situation with the firm (and despite the many double Grey Goose and sodas I had consumed), I opted to save money and not grab a $50 cab ride home at 5am. No, I chose to wait to take the bus in the morning for $2.50. Responsibility is painful and anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

Lucy, bless her heart, put me up, and although her generosity is unparallel and she is quite hot and hilarious, I was still not inclined to spoon. Yes, she was letting me share her marital bed while hubby was away, but, as previously reported, I have deep-seated daddy issues and I do not like to be touched! (Come to think of it, my fear of intimacy may be the reason I have no problem with the walk of shame – I should bring this up with Dr. Phil when he has me on the new OWN network for his feature on “Insecure Girls with Daddy Issues - the Reason Why Charlie Sheen is Still Getting Laid”…) The last time I slept over, she attempted to cop a feel and I kicked her. She has yet to let me live it down, claiming she forgot I was there rather than her husband, being sure to point out the bruise even weeks later. To top off the touching, Lucy snores – all cons to the impending cons to come at 9am when I ventured home on the bus. 

I do realize that I did leave out a major inconvenience of the walk of shame, which is the SHAME; however, I feel it is implied (what with the word being in the name). And shame is definitely what I felt on the bus that morning when the bus driver smirked at me with that “I know what you did last night!” look. BUT I DIDN’T! And that was the Shame! 

Needless to say, I went home to sleep and spent the rest of the day eating greasy food hoping that Monday brought new promise – hence this post being a day late. Please forgive me?! The lateness was for all readers’ benefit. Because if I wrote this yesterday, it would have gone something like this … shower? Too far … what is that smell … crap that is me … am I sober enough to drive to McDonalds?

Love Klassy Kass