Baby, it's time to go

C-Rock and I had actually known each other for years through a mutual group of friends before we ever started dating. Though we attended many of the same festivities over the years, we never particularly hit it off. This wasn't  due to any lack of mutual attraction (C-Rock's quite the stud muffin), but more likely because I was off bouncing around everywhere while he was hunkered down in some corner debating adamantly about man stuff.  We're quite the opposites in many ways... Me: short with a Napoleon complex (both inherited from my father), an extraverted wise-cracker with my emotions volatile and prominently worn on my sleeve. C-Rock: tall, strong, and silent with a black-or-white outlook and endless rigid opinions. While I, like any dutiful middle-child, make great efforts to maintain the peace, C-Rock, though unintentionally, tactlessly offends on a regular basis.

When we first starting dating, it wasn't necessarily a pairing our friends saw coming. Still, it works for us. As my sister likes to say, C-Rock calms my crazy. Our friends call this, 'Baby... it's time to go'. Yet another saying at my expense that just won't die.

We started dating a couple years out of college and though I've calmed in my 'old age', I'm known to be a bit hyper and border-line inappropriate when I've been over-served. (Some may interpret this as "obnoxious"... I prefer the term "endearing"). It was on just such an occasion when we found ourselves in what used to be 'the back room' at Mr. C's. Given my stature I should stay away from any drink with the name long in it, but nevertheless I'd already downed two long island iced teas. My antics had been escalating over the course of the evening and, while harmless when contained among friends, began to cause trouble after some strangers wandered into the back room.

I don't recall exactly what all went on, but as I understand it, there was something about some guy's leg and something else about dry humping. Yadda yadda yadda, somebody ended up laid out on the floor under a bar stool.... it doesn't really matter who. The point is, C-Rock finally stands up and without saying goodbye to our friends and gruffly declares, "Baby... it's time to go." With that he scooped me up over his shoulder and carried me out the back door.

Exit, stage left. No encore tonight folks.