My plan didn't work, the candlelight dinner, the lobster tails, the roses, the music, all failed. Now I'm in the emergency room with my girlfriend crying and laughing next to me, cursing me and apologizing, occasionally pointing at the fork she embedded in my hand.
"You're crazy," I say. "Crazy."
She scowls at me, raises her hand, threatening to flick the fork handle with her thick fingers. She wipes away fresh tears and clears her throat. Then she laughs again, a high pitched maniacal laugh.
The doctors come in and look at the injury, say once they remove the fork from my hand I'll need to have x-rays done to make sure nothing was torn or broken from the, um, injury. They leave to prepare their instruments and page the on call orthopedic surgeon.
She starts laughing again.
"Why are you laughing? I can't believe you," I say. "It's over. It's fucking over."
"You deserved it, asshole."
"Deserved to be stabbed in the hand with a fork."
"Hey, there are worse places I could have gone for."
"Shit, it hurts so fucking bad."
"Baby. They gave you pain killers."
"Well, they're not kicking in."
Her puffy eyes soften and she walks over to me. I flinch when she reaches her hand out, but she only brushes my face with her hand.
"I'm sorry I did that."
"You're not forgiven."
She slaps me.
"What did you expect? You told me you've been plowing some whore for the last three weeks, which is probably a lie. I overreacted. And the fact that you thought a romantic dinner was going to cushion the blow shows just how much of an idiot you are. God! So stupid. I thought you were going to propose for Christ's sake."
"I'm sorry, baby." I say. I really was sorry, but there was no going back to the way things were. There was no burying the hatchet after she buried a fork into my hand.
She shakes her head. "A fucking candlelight dinner. That's when you tell me."
Feeling defensive, I say, "But there was lobster."