Keep in mind, this is all unedited. If any of you would like to be a guest writer on my Wednesday blog, give me a shout. And don't forget I'm holding a contest for the 200th follower and their referral. I'm thinking $10 Amazon gift cards (though I haven't really decided). Maybe a pair of knee socks.
David and I decided that if we were going to be ready together, and the night was to be perfect, we’d have to plan it.
“Prom night,” David said shoveling some fries in his face at Baldy’s, our new favorite hangout.
“That’s pretty cliché,” I said.
“No, because we’re not going to prom.”
I stopped mid fry and looked in his eyes. “We aren’t?”
“No, prom is for the superficial and desperate. We’re skipping it.” He took a sip of his mega-pop than had to be at least eighty-five ounces.
“What if I don’t want to skip it?” I said, finally finishing my fry.
David gaped at me like he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying, as if I was speaking a foreign language.
“What?” I said.
He pointed a French fry at me and said, “What sounds better? Wearing uncomfortable clothes and conforming to the conventional, phony social rituals of a misguided youth while listening to banal music created by mamas boys wearing guyliner whose hearts have been broken into a million pieces all while witnessing the doldrums of fake ceremonious elections for elitist snob kings and queens while everyone else’s hope and dreams are scattered all over the floor with the leftover streamers?” He took a breath. “Or, would you rather have a romantic evening in a beautiful hotel suite with the love of your life, feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries and drinking champagne while giving completely and profoundly of yourself, and then tangling up together and falling asleep in each other’s arms?”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
“Exactly.” He shoved the pointer fry into his mouth.