Lettuce compare bad dates ( NOT the fruit)

Current mood:Sylvan

Category: Blogging

So, before I get started I have 2 important announcements: 1) - Our newest blog friend, Misbehaving ( I assume everybody has met MB and read his blogs? M, I'm talking to you.....don't be shy......he writes good stuff) pointed out that I've totally ignored my tradition of dedicating a blog to the newest kid on the block, so to speak. This blog is dedicated to you, MB (although the "honor" may be a little dubious). 2) - This blog has been blatantly inspired by MB's latest. Ciss kinda went into it in her comments, and I realized that the story has to be told. In all of its ugliness.

To really understand how I got into this mess, everybody needs to understand 2 things about me ( side note- Is this "2 things" a recurring theme? I don't know, my friend.....I don't know): I have trouble telling people "no", and I'm waaaaay too nice. I understand your skepticism, but it's true.

The "dog-eat-dog" atmosphere of Atlanta High School was so oppressive, that I had gained a reputation as a "really nice guy" (no better way to get laid in high school, right? yeah) by doing nothing more than NOT insulting people to their faces. Apparently I'd also, by my junior year, captured the attention of a senior lass (Her name is ****). Her father and my father were......not good friends, exactly, but......they knew each other really well. Throughout the year I had avoided going to ****'s Halloween party ( She told me "I'll be wearing a toga"), ****'s Thanksgiving party ( "We're gonna play seven minutes in Heaven"....I didn't know what that was, but I didn't like the sound of it), and ****'s Christmas & New Year's parties ( I knew all about the hazards of mistletoe and 12:00). Spring was rolling around fast, though, and so was prom season. At my house, hints were getting dropped that **** wanted to ask me to her prom. This was an actual conversation:

Dad: "I saw Jerry ***** today."

Me: "Really."

Dad: "He said his daughter thinks you're a fine young man, and so does he"

Me: "........."

Dad: "He thought you might be a good date for her prom. She's cute."

Me: "Dad, she's kinda ugly"

Dad: "........." (sending out silent, powerful waves of disapproval)

The very next day at school, **** cornered me and asked me to the prom. It was a little awkward, because we almost never spoke. I hemmed and hawed, but for every half-excuse I gave, she had a comeback (I cracked under pressure and couldn't think of a iron-clad excuse. Besides, I was trying to give her the opportunity to save some face, but she was having none of it). Finally, she administered the coup-de-grace: "I've already bought the tickets, and there's nobody else to go with...PLEASE?"

Prom time. Everybody parked their cars at the high school and boarded a chartered bus to go to the big city of Texarkana. The whole ride down (about 45 mins) was incredibly awkward and silent. I didn't have any friends in the SR. class of 1987, and I didn't know squat about my date. Since it was a chartered bus, the chaperones were not exactly vigilant about screening for alcohol, and everybody was drinking like a fish (except.....somebody forgot to give me the memo. And I could have used a stiff drink). All throughout the night, I fought off a tipsy, dry-humping **** who was trying to kiss my neck. At one point, my date told me "You ought to take off your shirt and just wear your jacket and bowtie".....(WTF?!?). I declined. It was a looooooooong dance. The bus ride back was even worse. It was very dark, and the slobbery sounds of kissing seemed to be preternaturally amplified. I stared straight ahead, thinking how much of a good-night kiss I'd have to pony up to avoid being talked about. At this point, **** takes my arm, puts it around her shoulder, and for good measure, down the front of her dress. So now I've got a handful of boob (Another sidebar....as a commited boob man, that part wasn't so bad. It was just a little unexpected). It was time to man up and take one for the team, so I made out with her. Just for a little while. When the bus arrived back at the high school, **** and I went to my car (unluckily, like MB, it had bench seats. Because I'm a quick, quick learner, I planted my right hand firmly on the steering wheel). **** leaned over and breathlessly wispered "I don't have to be back anytime. My parents trust you....we can do anything you want.....". What I wanted to say was "Ok, then.....we're off to find some hot chicks". Instead, what came out of my mouth was "Er.....It's already a little past my curfew.....I have to go home". I thought that would get my point across. Wrong. **** was incredibly unfazed, saying "....Well, call me tomorrow and we can do something then". Wow.......I didn't call.

Every so often for the rest of the year, My dad would ask if I'd seen **** around, or had heard from her. I would just look at him in stony silence. He got the message.

Years later, Ciss and I saw **** at the local Super Wal-Mart ( the social nexus of Cass County) going grocery shopping. **** was loading her buggy up with frozen entreees. "Hmmmmm", said Ciss, "Dinner for one, ****?" It was the best and meanest line I had heard in a long time.