I was digging in the basement the other day and came across this piece I wrote back in my college days. Thought you might enjoy it. A little piece of humor from way back. P.S. I will be posting other Zodiac Signs again soon.
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The Date
Finally he phones you up for that first date. You jump around the room in joy, as your roommates look at you in utter confusion. To add to your feelings of excitement you tell everyone including you dog that you won't be home tonight -- you have a date. So you go though that dating ritual. First the bath, then the moisturizing, and spraying your body down with that foreign mist. After hours of applying make-up, teasing your hair, and hunting out the best attire, you sit back with a glass of bubbly and a clock in your hand watching the minutes go by.
After what feels like hours the door bell rings, and your stomach turns as you walk to the door in your four-inch. There he stands wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. He looks at you a little surprised. He tells you you're beautiful and waits for you to get your coat.
You walk down the sidewalk following him, to see a jacked up 4x4 before you. So your dream date gets in the driver's seat and slams the door, as you stand on the passenger side sizing up the two-foot jump you"ll have to make to get yourself into the damn thing. Trying to be a lady you throw one foot up into the truck, while your dress becomes spread-eagle, as he gets a glimpse of your underwear. Then with tremendous effort you throw up your other leg, lose you shoe, and pull yourself in. And so a half an hour already passed -- you wonder are you enjoying yourself yet?
During the drive you make small talk, as he pulls up to the Sports Bar, you dwell on an easier method of exit from this monster truck. You decide to throw your shoes down first then to jump with all your might. As you do so, your bare foot hits a rock, sending pain up your leg, and a run up your nylons. He walks in front of you, not waiting for you to get self-composed, and soon you are running behind him to catch up. You open the door for yourself and walk into a crowed sports bar. He walks straight up to the bar and orders himself a drink. You are really starting to feel like this guys a real jerk. He brings his drink to the table, and asks you what you would like? You reply a glass of white wine, so he motions to which counter you should go to for a white wine. Limping over to the counter you grab a five from your purse and go get your own drink. Sometime between his arrival at your place and here you wonder what you did wrong. Why is he being so rude?
As you return to the table, where now sit four other men, and no chair for you, you look directly at your date in disgust. His only comment, "Go grab yourself a chair."
So you sit amongst four men watching hockey, eating peanuts and drinking beer. The conversation during the evening is about cam-shafts, carburetors, and sports. Your date does not forget his small gestures of fondness. As he punches you in the arm a few times, and elbows you in the side.
On the way home, you find yourself fuming mad at the whole affair. Not once tonight did he open a door for you, buy you a drink, or make any attempt to treat you like a lady. Mad as hell, you decide it is time to make your feelings known. You scream at him for being so rude and inconsiderate, his lousy conversation, and rough manner. "I'm a Lady," you declare, "and I want respect and I want to be treated accordingly."
He looks at you in disbelieve. "Listen lady", he says," I went all out tonight to treat you with equality and respect. I never sexually harassed you, I never made you feel like the weaker sex, I didn't hurt your liberated pride by paying for your drinks or opening doors. You are an independent equal and I went way out of my way, to treat you accordingly, so don't tell me I was inconsiderate of your feelings. I spent three months researching womens rights, the liberation movement, and reading Cosmopolitan, so I could make this date politically correct, and you have the nerve to be so ungrateful. What the hell do you want from me?"
As you get out of the truck, your date slams the door in disgust and drives away. When you walk into the apartment the girls ask you about your date. Your only response. "Politically correct."
____________________________
The Date
Finally he phones you up for that first date. You jump around the room in joy, as your roommates look at you in utter confusion. To add to your feelings of excitement you tell everyone including you dog that you won't be home tonight -- you have a date. So you go though that dating ritual. First the bath, then the moisturizing, and spraying your body down with that foreign mist. After hours of applying make-up, teasing your hair, and hunting out the best attire, you sit back with a glass of bubbly and a clock in your hand watching the minutes go by.
After what feels like hours the door bell rings, and your stomach turns as you walk to the door in your four-inch. There he stands wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. He looks at you a little surprised. He tells you you're beautiful and waits for you to get your coat.
You walk down the sidewalk following him, to see a jacked up 4x4 before you. So your dream date gets in the driver's seat and slams the door, as you stand on the passenger side sizing up the two-foot jump you"ll have to make to get yourself into the damn thing. Trying to be a lady you throw one foot up into the truck, while your dress becomes spread-eagle, as he gets a glimpse of your underwear. Then with tremendous effort you throw up your other leg, lose you shoe, and pull yourself in. And so a half an hour already passed -- you wonder are you enjoying yourself yet?
During the drive you make small talk, as he pulls up to the Sports Bar, you dwell on an easier method of exit from this monster truck. You decide to throw your shoes down first then to jump with all your might. As you do so, your bare foot hits a rock, sending pain up your leg, and a run up your nylons. He walks in front of you, not waiting for you to get self-composed, and soon you are running behind him to catch up. You open the door for yourself and walk into a crowed sports bar. He walks straight up to the bar and orders himself a drink. You are really starting to feel like this guys a real jerk. He brings his drink to the table, and asks you what you would like? You reply a glass of white wine, so he motions to which counter you should go to for a white wine. Limping over to the counter you grab a five from your purse and go get your own drink. Sometime between his arrival at your place and here you wonder what you did wrong. Why is he being so rude?
As you return to the table, where now sit four other men, and no chair for you, you look directly at your date in disgust. His only comment, "Go grab yourself a chair."
So you sit amongst four men watching hockey, eating peanuts and drinking beer. The conversation during the evening is about cam-shafts, carburetors, and sports. Your date does not forget his small gestures of fondness. As he punches you in the arm a few times, and elbows you in the side.
On the way home, you find yourself fuming mad at the whole affair. Not once tonight did he open a door for you, buy you a drink, or make any attempt to treat you like a lady. Mad as hell, you decide it is time to make your feelings known. You scream at him for being so rude and inconsiderate, his lousy conversation, and rough manner. "I'm a Lady," you declare, "and I want respect and I want to be treated accordingly."
He looks at you in disbelieve. "Listen lady", he says," I went all out tonight to treat you with equality and respect. I never sexually harassed you, I never made you feel like the weaker sex, I didn't hurt your liberated pride by paying for your drinks or opening doors. You are an independent equal and I went way out of my way, to treat you accordingly, so don't tell me I was inconsiderate of your feelings. I spent three months researching womens rights, the liberation movement, and reading Cosmopolitan, so I could make this date politically correct, and you have the nerve to be so ungrateful. What the hell do you want from me?"
As you get out of the truck, your date slams the door in disgust and drives away. When you walk into the apartment the girls ask you about your date. Your only response. "Politically correct."
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