First of all I knew it never could have worked because his name was Ed Miranda and if I married him I'd be Miranda Miranda. That should have been a sign.

He was the Manager of Avet Transportation Co., the bus company that contracted with our Agency to transport handicapped and mentally retarded adults back and forth from our Day Program. Since I was the only Social Worker at the Program, transportation problems somehow found their way to me, and since something would go wrong almost every day, Ed and I spoke often. Put mentally retarded people with mostly untrained staff who cannot speak English and what do you expect?

After several months of phone conversations, Ed asked me out. He liked to eat and he liked to go to good restaurants. He seemed to be generous, gregarious.

I was hesitant. I had enough blind dates to last a lifetime. So I tried to "check him out"--talk to people who knew him and find out what he looked like. This was before the "magic" of Internet dating exploded on the scene. People from the bus company kept saying he was "nice", another possible warning. But then again, English was not their first language. The fateful date arrived. A Saturday night in muggy May. I was not feeling well that day, pre-date jitters, or just simply under the weather. I wasn't sick enough to cancel, so I just stayed home and rested. My stomach was acting funny and I felt fluish. I took an over-the-counter cold remedy shortly before he arrived.

Well anyway. Nice blue eyes, a warm open face, but shall we say, on the cuddly teddy bear side, or just plain fat, depends on who is doing the looking.

We went to a really upscale happening village restaurant simply titled its location: Jones Street. It was crowded, hot, and muggy in there as well. He ordered wine, a delicious cabernet. Are you getting the picture?

He began talking and talking. I knew I should have been interested; it was just SO interesting. He had been an archaeologist in Yugoslavia, he went on these amazing digs.

Something started happening between the sips of wine and the long description of digging for bones. I saw his mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. What was going on? I was going under--I was passing out, but trying my best to be ladylike throughout.

It was a matter of time, perhaps seconds, before I would be on the floor. I felt the warm liquid of sinking overtaking me. I was sliding off my chair, all the while smiling and pretending to be interested. I think I said "excuse me", and I literally remember crawling to the Ladies Room which I espied from our table. It wasn't a big restaurant and I thought for sure I could make it to the lu. As I crawled on all fours to the ladies room, I saw a couple waving to me at a nearby table. They must have been thinking, who is that crazy drunken chick going by? But no one seemed to mind that I was crawling. I got to the velvet curtains pinned in front of the restrooms and down I went curtains and all.

The next thing I recall is awakening with my head crushed into the chest of the maitre'd'hotel. "Are you pregnant, miss? Shall we call an ambulance?"

"Oh no," I insisted, sweaty and flushed, "I will be fine." (struggling to be polite), and with that, I saw my date approaching. I passed out again.

This time I woke up in Ed's arms. I thought I had somehow gotten aroused, since I noticed that my pants were wet. I was wearing a black jumpsuit with "cool" Frye boots, just thinking Ii was sooo fine that evening. (these were in style). But to my chagrin, I had totally wet myself during one of my "spells", yes I had a urinating accident on myself on a blind date in a fancy restaurant after I passed out. I was just grateful I didn't do number two as well!

I had to excuse myself at once, still feeling feverish. I went into the single dimly lit restroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked down at myself and decided to do the only self-respecting thing left: lift my leg to the handblower and try to dry myself off before joining my "date". I guess I hadn't locked the door, because to make matters worse, the maitre d' walked into the bathroom to check on me and there I was with my legs up and open, trying to dry off! I know I charmed him that night!

Finally I came out and asked Ed to take me home. He offered me his coat without saying a word, his smile reassuring. We drove home in silence. Finally he said, "You know, I had a good time tonight. You
really looked so cute when you fainted and it was so Victorian the way you fell into my arms!"

"Really? I feel like I made a complete fool of myself, and to top it off, I peed on myself!"

"Oh, that's okay," he quickly retorted, "I work with retards so I'm used to it!"

I came home shaken and ashamed. My knee blew up since I went straight down on the back of my high cowboy boots. Oh god, tomorrow was Mother's Day and I had to cancel the annual family get-together since I still felt feverish and was afraid I busted my kneecap.

Well, really, I was too embarrassed to tell the whole story to my family who already thinks I'm a weirdo.

Ed called on Monday. How are you feeling Miranda? I thanked him and said better. And then he asked me out for next Saturday.

I called my mom in Florida and told her the whole story finally.
And her retort: "He actually asked you out again?"

© Miranda Gold , 2005