First Dates

Warning: This episode contains scenes of extreme author humiliation. Reader discretion advised.

Let’s take a trip in the way back machine. Set your dials for…. High School. I want you to know this is not easy for me. I pretty much blanked out this portion of my life. In fact, I had to use self hypnosis to get back there. While I was under the influence, I checked around to see if I had any lost memories of alien abduction. Because that would have been easier to deal with. Nope, no probes on space ships, but I did manage to recover some of the High School Hard Drive disk.

I was a late bloomer. Really late. My friends and I were pseudo-intellectual high school nerds. And this was a Catholic high school. We were told kissing a boy was a mortal sin. Not that I had the opportunity to sin.

Well, the late bloomer thing. I was awkward. I was flat chested. ProActiv had not been invented yet. My social skills tended towards being clever and pretentious. Really, really, not a good time for me. Man, I just had to stop right this minute, and cringe. Okay, shaking it off….

My first date….. arghhhh! It was arranged. Arghhhh! My dad was a big deal in local politics. One of the guys on the local Democratic committee made his son ask me out. The son and I were not friends. Not in the same clique. Just barely in the same universe. And he was shorter than I was.

I don’t remember where we went on that date, or what we did. Some things are better off forgotten. I do know that there was no kiss goodnight. Eeeeewwww. We shook hands. And never went out again.

Now we enter a really blank period. I know my friends and I cruised Main St., and went to football games, and sometimes met up with guys in large crowds, but it is pretty blurry.

The next time the fog lifts, it is right before the senior prom. My friends were going. They were going with the some of the guy pseudo-intellectual clique. So one of the guy pseudo-intellectuals asked me out. You know the important thing here was the dress, right? That’s all I really cared about. And, of course, being able to say I went to my senior prom. My dress rocked. My mom made it. It was a white cotton pique empire waisted, puff sleeve creation with yellow velvet ribbon trim. Mom bought me a white rabbit fur stole to wear with it. I went to my mom’s stylist at the beauty parlor. I had my hair in an updo with curls. But none of that mattered. All for naught.

You see, two days before the prom, my date (may he burn in hell forever), asked a sophomore to go steady with him. He gave her his class ring and everything. It was a very small school. Everybody knew. Everybody. This experience in humiliation pre-empts all further memories from that period. I know I went to the prom. I know I wore a really cool dress. And that is it. That is all my brain lets me remember.

If you all want to take a moment here, that is okay. I need one, myself.

About ten years later, I found out my prom date was managing a McDonalds. While this afforded me some comfort, it was not nearly enough. Okay, the mists of time are wafting back over this memory, and I hope I never have to look at it again.

Well. Deep breath. Snapping back to my real life, now. I survived (cue the Gloria Gaynor song here). Between then and now, I went through the whole “kiss a lot of frogs” experience, but I ended up with Mr. GG (cue the happy, upbeat, triumphal music at this point). And, to quote Mr. GG, “So far, so good”. No. I will make my own summation: “So far, really, really excellent”. Don’t you just love happy endings?


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