I propose we support a one-month limit on going steady
I think it will keep people more able to deal with weird situations
and get to know more people. You can go out with whoever you want to If you’ll just listen to my plan
THE TEENAGE GUIDE TO POPULARITY – Nada Surf
PROM [prom] noun 1. Location/opportunity for one to spend an abundance of money, in order to create an ass of oneself, and to generate tolerance for future activities, which will garner same result. See “New Years Eve”
INT. THE HORSE & HOUND (dining room) – NIGHT
The prom was a big deal, and I was the daddio of decadence. Le Chateau’d from my head to my feet; I was a cross between a zoot-suited pulp crime gangster and a middle linebacker. The shoulders of my blazer were padded up to my ears and the waist was tapered in tight. This, unfortunately, disallowed me the opportunity later for proper ballet bar stretching, in order to maximize the inevitable Wang Chung’ing later that night. My suit of armour limited my dance moves to “the robot,” or as The Wizard of Oz aficionados originally tagged it – “the rusty tin man.” The lower half of my ensemble had the requisite ankle length floods and slouch socks. The tapered ankles helped avoid chaffing when moon walking over to spike the punchbowl.
However, at this point in time, six of us were still seated (underage) around a table at one of London’s finest eateries, and rock, paper, scissoring to see who was going to get stuck trying to order the alcohol. As I’ve lamented before, although I was over six feet tall, my acting skills were commensurate with that of the entire cast of Degrassi Junior High. However, paper does, in fact, cover rock and I was left holding the wine list. The legendary maitre d’ Enrico Palazzo stood over me like the angry father in a Twisted Sister video. I garnered all the dignified bravado of Peter Brady ordering pork chops and apple shauce, and let rip.
Er, ah. Could we start with some wine? Perhaps some champipple?
My decision to banter with a Sanford and Son-ism was ballsy. ( Champipple – a little bit of wine – a whole lot of ripple!)
I did secure the alcohol for the table, but I wasn’t oblivious to the nudge/wink afforded the waiter by the maitre d’. The waiter already knew that his tip was going to be crap, so he may as well shut us up with wine. After we had all decidedly ordered from the lower priced echelon of entrees, (they had an incredible grilled cheese,) we then marvelled appreciatively as our Costco sampler sized plates were laid before us by a platoon of Western students. Having now guzzled the rest of our house zinfandel, the bill was delivered to us encased in a leather binder that was more suited for the classic literature of William Faulkner than the paper scroll that loomed inside. All three males intuitively removed a calculator from our inner jacket pocket and furtively began figuring out their portion. (Yes, we all had soup, but you’re the only one that had a pop…) This event pre-dated debit, and I was the only guy with the foresight to stop at a Mac’s Milk and get a twenty-dollar bill broken into four fives, having dined with these deadbeats before. I tacitly laid down my seventy-five dollars, while the other two guys each sat holding four twenty dollar bills, wondering which one of them was going to get screwed over on the change. However, any semblance of my refined aura quickly vanished as I picked my wallet up to place it back in my jacket and a condom fell out onto the table. (AWESOME!) Any attempt to discreetly brush it onto the floor or onto my lap was overshadowed by my buddies leaping out of their seats and pointing at it like it was the Ark of the Covenant. My date, already dubious of me, for my affinity for equating real life situations to very special episodes of Diff’rent Strokes, now looked at me like an unwitting victim from To Catch a Predator. My work was clearly cut out for me from here on in. I had a distinct vision of her shoulder rolling out of my car before coming to a complete stop when I dropped her off at the end of the night, and we hadn’t even arrived at the Prom yet. I will continue this story, or as my date undoubtedly refers to it as The Trilogy of Terror, next week.