Dec 30 2008
Change- Mean girls- a day in the life
I wrote this a while ago. It’s a true story. None of it James Frey-ed (though it’s totally G-rated). I think there’s a lot of truth to a girl going for the jerk. That’s why house, despite his limp, his wrinkles, and his bad hair is hot! As hard as I tried, I never liked a nice guy. And there are a lot of them. And many of them are good-looking, athletic, smart. But there’s something very unappealing about the guy who says and does all the right things. Case in point:
Case #1: Charlie
Sandy blonde hair, translucent eyes. Breaks multiple records in multiple sports. Intelligent and mature, despite the constant and unwilling companionship with “sportos,” whose only foray into literature is Sports Illustrated. At age 17, gives bone marrow to terminally ill younger sister.
Makes a date with 15-yr old girl for high school dance- agrees to pick her up at her house. She’s very pleased with her outfit: off the shoulder, quarter-sleeve, black stretch top, fuchsia bias cut skirt, variegated cotton scarf with metallic fuchsia threads used as waist sash, and black ballet flats.
Charlie brings her a corsage (she thinks it’s extraneous and tacky; the dance is not even a semi-formal!). He offers his arm and says something about a “chariot” and “awaiting her.” As she steps through the black gate of her home made of white marbleized bricks, she stops abruptly upon viewing her chariot. It’s an aberration on an otherwise pristine canvas. It’s an early 1970’s green and white pick-up truck with what look like bullet holes splayed across the side, apparently where metal trim existed almost two decades earlier. Corroded metal frowns above each wheel.
He notices her dismay; he’s sweating like he’s just run one of his record-breaking dashes. She feels bad for him, and tries to rise above her affectations, by waxing poetic about the “character” of his vehicle.
He gallantly opens the door for her, ensuring that her skirt is not marred by the heavy door as he squeaks it shut. She’s not sure where to rest her hands. She doesn’t want to touch the sides of the door, with its gnarled, soiled vinyl. But, if she doesn’t anchor herself, she’ll slide right over the sun-sweating vinyl into his sweaty lap!
She risks neither, tightly clasping her hands in her lap and lowering the center of her gravity, negotiating turns with premeditated hip swivels. Right turn at stop light, left turn of hips.
He’s such a swell guy… chivalrous and well-mannered. Yet, she finds herself repulsed by the predictability of his etiquette- oozing compliments and gracious hand gestures. She feels like his mobile Price is Right stage. But, she’s at a school dance WITH him, and everyone knows it. The teachers at the door are so thrilled that two nice, decent kids have coupled up. The fast dances are breakaways, where she can shimmy over to her girlfriends. The slow dances are torturous. He kisses her, and she HAS to kiss back to avoid embarrassing him by shunning his advances- it would make the night so much more uncomfortable if BOTH of them were unhappy. After all, he has less bone marrow now!
At the end of the date, he has opened no less than 30 doors for her, gestured for her to go first at least 28 times, and told her she is beautiful more than 5 times.
He tells her what a wonderful time he has had. He kisses her good-night. He says he’ll talk to her at school, walk her to her first class. Then, of course, he holds the door open for her, as she walks into the house.
She winces when she hears the squeak of his truck door shut, the sickly engine coughing its way over the sloping driveway. Then, she vows that she will never speak to him again.
