Little Caesar

little-caesars

I was sucking face on the dancefloor with a guy with teenage pizza face and a straight bang Caesar haircut.  It was the first night with our fake IDs, and much to our disappointment, they didn’t even bother to card.

We ordered rookie blender drinks and Jäger shots.  Little Caesar made his move.  He wore a cozy wool sweater and was a good kisser.  Sadly, that may have been because I had little to compare it to.

Fast forward a couple months later when we met up again. Naturally, Little Caesar was going to want another piece of me.

Nope.  He had a girlfriend.  No wool cuddles.  No sucking face.  No Pizza Pizza.

The trauma of this rejection was permanent.  And I wanted another slice.

But he went off to college in Virginia, and I went off to college in upstate New York.

When I moved to D.C. for the semester, I HAD THIS GREAT IDEA!   I decided to invite him to visit.

Aside from the occasional flirtatious email, we hadn’t spoken since high school.  I should have at least tried a phone call.

As soon as I saw him, I knew I had made a mistake.  Because of the distance, I had invited him to stay overnight. Hoping though that it could turn into something, I asked him for a Friday hoping for a repeat performance Saturday.

Now I was stuck.  We looked at each other, hugged, and pretended there was chemistry.

I had carefully chosen an Italian restaurant down the street for dinner.  The romantic vibe set the wrong tone, and we sat down to our awkward evening.

He told me that as a waiter he hated people who round down tips to get an even dollar amount total on the check.  He saw me do this seconds before.

Went to Georgetown where we did lots of drinking and avoiding eye contact.

On the ride back to the dorm we chose to chat with the cabbie rather than to each other.

I should have gone to bed, set him up in the living room with a pillow and blanket, and sent him home the next morning with a to-go of coffee.  But something happened in the elevator.

Alcohol mixed with missed opportunity washed over us, and we barely made it to the couch.

Tracey Jacobson finally got a piece.

Pizza Pizza.


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