Our friend Michelle sent in this sordid tale for our "Most Embarrassing" show. Please check out "Most Pathetic" coming up on Wednesday, May 31st at 9:30 PM!

Strangers in the Night

Since this does have sort of a Penthouse-letters for the nonprofit set feel to it, for extra glamour, everyones names have been changed to romance-novel/porn names.

When I was about twenty-four, I worked as a social worker in a housing program for developmentally disabled adults. I was single, working twelve hours a day, sometimes more, at least five days a week, sometimes more, constantly on call, running myself ragged around the Bronx and Washington Heights trying to keep the lives of some very damaged people together.

My social life, sadly, was far worse than that of my clients. Who the hell did I see, day to day? Group 1 - Retards, and Group 2 - the people who loved them. Group 1 was clearly out of the question, although they hit on me constantly. As for Group 2, I was having an ongoing tryst with the married guy who was sleeping with one of my bosses. And Id just moved to the Bronx, effectively driving the last nail into my social coffin.

When the opportunity presented itself for a legitimate boyfriend at the office, in the form of Rod, a thirtysomething vocational counselor tall, dark, blind (legally, not actually), but attractive in an aging-hippie kind of way I decided to go for it. And he knew what I went through every day at work. So even if I was still out late drinking or fucking around with my cohorts, hed know that I could actually be out working.

It wasnt like inter-service dating was discouraged at our agency. Not only was it tolerated, it was promoted by our Jewish mother boss, who was a bit of a yenta. Couplings and uncouplings and rumors were pervasive; and since I was usually the subject of the latter, having a real boyfriend would be super!

Wed just started dating at the beginning of the summer. Rod and I would go to dinner, movies, outdoor concerts, all the right date things. But we were definitely taking it slow. You dont get a masters in counseling without being a bit of a basket case yourself, and it took him weeks to get to second base. Frustrating? Yes, indeed. Doobie, as my clients and coworkers called me, was not getting any. (My nickname didnt stem from a particular love of weed, or from Romper Rooms good do-bee, but from a contraction of my complicated last name.)

Lucky for us, it was soon time for my bosss Annual Retreat. Nominally a time to brainstorm and try to make positive changes (you get the idea), it was really an opportunity to get completely debauched at our bosss familys sweet Adirondack compound. All we had to bring was the weed and the booze for the ride up. There was a pond for swimming, a fully stocked kitchen, and lots of land on which to park our tents. Yeah, tents.

We had to sleep in tents. Im a city girl, I dont know from tents. And to my surprise, Rod not only had one, but casually asked me to share his tent. So I jumped at the chance. This was it. Finally. Maybe. Uh, on the lawn? In back of my bosss house? I dont know. Butmaybe we could hide in the woods. Yes, the woods! Wed hold hands, curl up under the trees, gaze at the stars, make love in our own little corner of the forestRomance, at last!

Or not. I arrived to find hed pitched our tent smack in the middle of Do-Gooder Tent City. My heart and my hormones sank. He pointed to our little red nylon love den. Was he blind or just stupid? Or both? And from the minute I arrived, hed been strange, distant, avoiding me like moths dont avoid bug lights. Like mosquitoes avoid Off! If Off actually worked. You get the idea.

It wasnt going to happen. We werent even hanging out and I had no clue what his problem was. Clearly, the only tent hed be pitching had already been pitched and wed really just be sleeping together. Sleeping. Together. Probably for the best. What the hell were we going to do in the middle of Hooverville North?

Fine. I ate and drank and flirted with my other coworkers. He smoked some weed discreetly in the woods, and skulked off to sleep while I engaged in a rousing and lie-filled game of I Never on the back deck. I wandered down to the swimming hole with some like-minded folks and chastely splashed around in the chilly water, stretched out on the rocky strip of shore, drank more whiskey and had fake-deep conversations with Carl, an insanely beautiful job counselor with early-Travolta hair whose insanely beautiful girlfriend was snoozing in her tent.

I completely lost track of the time and didnt realize that it was well past one AM, hours after Rod had grumpily wandered off tent-bound. Carl and I stumbled back to the compound, and I jerked clumsily at our tent zippers in the darkness, trying to slip in quietly but baffled by the double zippers and swirling in a haze of Jack Daniels.

Rod jumped up; he was wide awake and one pissed-off legally-blind stoner hippie. Where the hell were you? I was going to COME OUT THERE AND LOOK FOR YOU! SHH! Youll wake everyone up! You were going to look for me? Damn. I felt awful, since he cant really see at night. What the fuck were you doing out there? I was worried, goddamnit! Youre soaked! Nothing! Why werent you here? I was just hanging-

He grabbed me and kissed me. Hard. Pressed me to the bottom of the tent. Took my goddamn breath away. I was lost. I forgot where I was. I forgot annoyance, anger, everything but his lips on mine and his arms around me. I forgot myself.

Until the singing started. A deep baritone voice starts crooning, Strangers in the Night..exchanging glances.Doobie doobie do Snickers. Trent and his wife Alexis had the tent next door. And he was singing my song. Loudly.

Rod sticks his head out, and stage-whispers, CUT IT OUT.

Silence. Except for the furtive rustling of two very tall people in a fairly short two-person tent. We have to stop. We cant do this. I am losing my mind, sobered up and freaking out. EVERYBODY KNOWS! Shhh. He slipped off my wet T-shirt, kissed me again. I was lost. I forgot myself.

Until the flashlights started.

Do you know how transparent a red nylon tent is under the spotlight glare of a harsh halogen bulb? How about two? Or three?

Laughter. More singing. One tent after another joined in. Doo be do be doo

FUCK. I am ready to crawl back into the pond, except my shorts are missing. Laughing and crying and options. Fucking, not so much. CUT IT OUT! SERIOUSLY!

Flashlights. Singing. On and on until we just had to laugh, holding each other and awkwardly pulling up the sleeping bags. Eventually they stopped, so we started again

And as dawn rose over the mighty Adirondacks, a round, bespectacled face peered into our unzipped tent flap.

Yes, unzipped. Wide open. Sleeping bags, clothes, and us, tangled up.

Did I mention that we had clients as employees?

Doobie? You, you up yet? Smiling. Stuttering.

More laughter.

Fuck.

Where the fuck are my shorts?