Blunders of a First Date

Right underneath the logo of Stella’s blue hat, there was a smudge that impacted the look. She took her Tide To Go and tried to mark the stain away. Instead the chemicals penetrated without strength and the formula of the magic pen had no answer for her disappointment. She tossed it on her bedside and decided to text her hair stylist instead.

“Hair is looking crappy. Can we meet up?”

“Sorry, booked today and tomorrow. How’s Monday?”

“Too late, got a first date”.

Shawn had scheduled to pick her up at 7. He would swerve through mundane LA traffic- the kind that makes him scan through every radio station from AM to FM; he sat through the curse of listening to pristine voices debating about transgender restrooms while wanting the option to be surprised by the FM – all he got, was “work, work, work, work”. It briefly got him thinking about his awful co-workers; he wanted to rip glands out of Eric and unravel Trisha’s left bicep muscle. He discontinued those childish thoughts and repeated out loud, “They are yours. They are yours”.

Suddenly, a large pickup truck with monstrous wheels cut him off to make an abrupt left turn on a NO LEFT TURN lane- this villain thought he’d be extended a 10 minute grace period because he was the road’s Goliath and didn’t care even if road’s David was right behind him. Shawn would’ve been nicer if it was 7, but at 6:50 he knew he had to get to her doorsteps- he wasn’t about to begin their night with “I’m sorry I’m late”. He honked madly at Goliath and a pool of purely explicit cuss words were steaming out of the left side of his brain. The light was turning yellow and he proceeded to make the turn; Goliath was ready to unhinge his car door and become the biblical Hulk. David wasn’t going to let his bullying slide. They both got out of the car and with a full head of pride, David rushed at the concrete flesh.

Shawn awoke next to his car; big tire marks screeched away and he stood up to look at his driver’s side window. He had a plum for an eye and felt his left hand unable to grip the steering wheel. He arrived at her doorsteps. 7:17.

With a right handed knock, he stood there and Stella opened the door. She had her blue hat on; he noticed the stain, but otherwise, it couldn’t be his excuse for his unkempt display. They exchanged greetings and with quiet smiles they were on their way. Not too much was said in reply- she accepted his story and instinctively found it cute; there would be a time to unfold explanations during dinner. She then took off her cap and showed him her hair. It was the work of a mad scientist- scissors weren’t a tool; it was a weapon. He laughed hysterically and then she matched the laughter. It was going to be a good night.

 

 

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