Worst. Date. Ever.

One of the local radio stations has a contest going right now for a Marriage Vow Renewal in Scottsdale, AZ. To enter, you have to talk about the worst date you ever had with your spouse.

We both, immediately, knew what story we wanted to share.

When the husband and I first hooked up, he was going to college about four hours away from me. We’d known each other for years and this long distance thing was exactly what we (I) needed at this particular time in our (my) lives. We talked on the phone a lot, and spent random weekends together when we could.

One weekend he decided he wanted to do something extra special. He’d saved up his money and wanted to take me out to dinner at the Space Needle (where I’d never eaten), then he made reservations at a very swanky hotel downtown for a little romantic getaway. We were both very much looking forward to our “weekend away” and had been excitedly counting down to it for quite some time.

Finally the day arrived. Outfit planned, bag packed for the night … all was going to be perfect. But as I was getting ready I started to feel a little ‘off’.

There was pain. Down there. And it hurt. A lot.

When he finally got to my place to pick me up, I was determined to suck it up and have fun, because this was a BIG. DEAL. But he took one look at me and decided maybe I should call the doctor.

And the doctor told me to head to the ER. Now.

It turns out I had a very severe bladder infection. I'll spare you the gory details.

After a few hours in the ER (in which we missed our dinner reservations), they gave me a prescription for the infection. The nurse told me “wear your oldest underwear that you don’t mind getting stained, because it will probably turn them orange.”

Sexy.

We decided to head to the hotel anyway. Even if our romantic weekend had changed course, it would still be more fun to laze around (in my oldest, grungiest underwear) in a swanky hotel rather than in my little apartment.

When we got to the hotel to check in to our reserved room, it turns out that they didn’t have any rooms available. More people than expected had decided to stay an extra night, and that, apparently, overshadowed our reservation. But they’d be happy to put us up in a different hotel at no charge.

Fine. Whatever. I just want to take my meds and be miserable in peace.

I mean, I just wanted to cuddle with the boyfriend.

The new hotel overlooked the freeway. It was an all-suites hotel, but it was a far cry from the elegance of the former hotel. After we checked in we realized that, late as it was, we still needed to eat dinner. So we tried to order up some room service.

The kitchen was closed for the night.

At our new locale, overlooking I-5¸we weren’t in walking distance to any kind of actual restaurant. So the then-boyfriend ran down to a nearby convenience store. Instead of our romantic seated dinner for two in our fancy dress clothes overlooking the city, we ate things like chips and salami and cheese from a plastic container. Curled up in our suite, listening to the romantic sounds of passing cars on the freeway. In my hole-y, gross underwear. That was beginning to turn orange.

Sexy.