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and that I had coated my hands in it when I checked my hair. Now, in cave man days it may have been a romantic gesture to begin the evening with a blow to the head. But even then, I'm sure head butts were frowned upon.

My date dropped like a sack of potatoes. Still, being young and living with our parents, opportunities for romantic evenings were few. Plus, she really wasnt bleeding that bad, so after she regained consciousness, we agreed to move forward. What a mistake. The trip to the drive ins began with nothing too out of the ordinary. Though, I had to grip the steering wheel like grim death. My logic was to play it cool, and I would wash the gel off my hands when we got there.

What my buddy had failed to tell me about his van, was that the heater was stuck on. By the time we got to the little drive in booth to pay, the van was the temperature of Africa. I had been sweating profusely for nearly 3 miles, and the hair gel was beginning to mix with sweat, and drip into my eyes. I couldn't wipe it away; it was hard enough to grip the steering wheel. I was having to blink and squint like Tammy Faye Baker reading queue cards. I managed to maneuver my way through a maze of parked cars, and pedestrians heading for the snack shack. But was unsuccessful in getting into our space, without running into that stupid pole with the speaker on it.

The impact of hitting the poll, had released a mini tsunami of sweat, and hair gel that came crashing into my eyes. I was all but blind, yet even now trying to be cool, and romantic. Leaning in to tell my date I was going to wash my hands, but would be right back, I misjudged where the back of her seat was in correlation to her head. You know, the whole tall short thing. As I reached for the back of her seat, my thumb poked her in the eye. Undaunted, I went to kiss it better. My hand slipped off the back of her seat, and the second head butt of the evening became a matter of record.

Still clueless as to the workings of the female mind, I thought her lack of physical retaliation, or at least a verbal assault, was a good thing. Giving too much credit to the effectiveness of my sincere apology, and joking that I hadn't knocked her out that time, I asked if I could get her anything as if the date wasn't DOA. All she asked, was that I bring her some ice from the snack shack, and maybe a diet coke. I remember making my way to fulfill her request thinking how lucky I was to have the kind of girl that could take two shots to the head like

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