Lamborghini Mike

My junior year of college I still had the same boyfriend that I mentioned in my previous post The Infamous Teddy Bear Massacre. If you haven’t had a chance to read that post yet, I would highly recommend it, as it gives some context to this story.

My college boyfriend and I had a nasty habit of drinking and fighting. It seemed that neither of us could handle our liquor, and neither of us could handle having a normal evening of drinking without some sort of argument breaking out.

The night of Lamborghini Mike was no different. My boyfriend had taken me to a BBQ at his friend’s house, which was only a few miles away from my house at the time. This was a BBQ, people. A FREAKIN BBQ. We weren’t pounding shots, dancing and raging at some night club. Nope, just at a simple BBQ, casually drinking, and hanging out with friends. We still managed to get into a fight.

I can’t for the life of me remember what we were fighting about. Who knows if either of us really knew what we were fighting about at the time, but somehow we ended up in my boyfriend’s friend’s bedroom yelling at each other.

My boyfriend snatched my Coach purse that he had given to me for Christmas a few months back.

“I’m taking this damn purse back!” my boyfriend yelled as he proceeded to unzip the purse and dump all of its contents out onto the bed. Lip gloss, tampons, eye liner, car keys, you name it. All of my belongings had been dumped into a pile on the bed.

“Fine!” I yelled. “I’m going home.”

I grabbed a pillow from the bed and removed the pillow from its case. I then began stuffing all of my purse contents into my boyfriend’s friend’s pillow case, like a freakin hobo. A freakin drunk hobo.

I stormed out of the bedroom, stumbled through the kitchen, and ran out the front door. I hadn’t driven there, and it was the middle of winter, so naturally I decided to walk home. This was before the time of the iPhone, so my simple flip phone was not equipped with a GPS device.

Nonetheless I slung that pillow case over my shoulder and set out on my journey home. My phone was blowing up. Phone call after phone call. Voicemail after voicemail. Text message after text message. My boyfriend was desperately trying to get a hold of me, but I wasn’t having it.

I could have called any of my friends, sorority sisters, or roommates to come pick me up and take me home. But nope. I had embraced the temporary life of a drunken hobo and was determined to make this journey on my own.

An hour went by and I was starting to get really tired. And lost. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, plus my fury boots were made more for looks than they were for hiking.

Suddenly, out of thin air, a red Lamborghini pulled up beside me on the road. The scissor door on the passenger side opened up vertically, and there was a guy sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” he said. “Need a ride?”

I knew better than to hitchhike or get into a car with a strange man, but the life of a drunken hobo was rough and it had worn me down. Plus this guy was wearing a beanie on his head, and it’s a little known fact that rapists and murderers don’t wear beanies (it’s not, actually). I quickly agreed and jumped into the red Lamborghini.

It was short ride to my house, and Lamborghini Mike and I didn’t talk too much. Just enough to exchange pleasantries, and him ask me if I was alright. He never hit on me or tried to make a pass. He simply took me home (although I’m not so sure my boyfriend believed that part of the story).

I still think about Lamborghini Mike from time to time and wonder how he’s doing, usually when I’m drunk and telling this story to my friends. I wonder too if Lamborghini Mike ever thinks about me, the drunken Irish Hobo he rescued from the side of the road in the middle of winter.

The world may never know.

xoxo Katie : )