Wait--is this a date?

Submitted by B-52

I should have known. The fact that he was on the other end of that phone (yet again) should have clued me in. Alas, I am dense, and could therefore be tricked into going on a date with a boy I was completely uninterested in.

"Hey, some of our friends are hanging out tonight, wanna come?"

We're still friends, I thought. The talk was good, we agreed not to date, but he's nice and we're friends. Heck, why not?

And I said yes.

J showed up with two other guys in a four-door sedan. As I climbed in the back seat, friend A casually asked friend B how to get to B's date's home. Tactless as usual, I blurted out, "Wait, this is a date?"

. . . silence . . .

Friend A: "You didn't tell her?!"

As if it wasn't bad enough that I was on a date against my will, the evening had no redeeming qualities. The dates the other two guys had chosen were still sophomores in high school. Four years their senior, I had nothing in common with them. However, we did spend a fair amount of time getting to know each other in close proximity -- remember the four door sedan? Three guys plus their dates makes six people total. A four door sedan seats five. My date was thrilled with this result, as I was halfway on his lap the entire hour-long drive. Me, not so much.

The photos documenting the evening are on facebook somewhere. I'm always on the fringe of the group, trying to maintain a decent amount of space between J and me, with a fake grin plastered on my face, the two other 'couples' cute and cuddly. Standing in the cold at a soccer game, it's clear I'm having the time of my life.

Conversation topics for the evening:

"Um...which body type can pull off skinny jeans?" "They don't make you look fat." "Oh, good, I was worried."

"So, what's the point of this game? Trying to make fieldgoals?" "No, just goals. And you have to do it without touching the ball with your hands." "But how do they run and kick the ball at the same time?"

"Guys, Tide pens are such miracles. I just can't live without them, but I've never been able to figure out how on earth they work. Is it just some kind of white paint you're putting on your clothes?" "I think it's just straight acid." "Well, that's better."

Intellectually stimulating, no?

Finally, the game had ended, I had at least gotten a burger and root-beer float out of the fiasco, and we had driven back. I thought I was home free.

"We saved the best for last. Let's go up to make-out point and shine lights on steamy cars. Maybe we can get some good photos!"