Sunday, March 19, 2006
Although I was a typical sixteen year old my mother's words often came to me in various situations. That was the case when my date, at a Saturday night church dance, an older boy (at least 18) asked me to dance. My Dad had dropped my friend and I off and I had arranged to meet him there. I was horrified because he smelled terrible (like beer and cigarettes) but I remembered my Momma's words "it takes an awful lot for a boy to ask a girl to dance. You should never shoot them down. Always say yes and dance at least once with them." So, much as I felt like bolting I smiled demurely and agreed to slow dance with him. His name was "Chuck." I'll never forget the song. It was "Scarborough Fair." Do you know how LONG that song is? Anyway, he clutches me tight and I thought for a moment he was crying as his shoulders started to heave. It was only when the warmth hit my neck that I realized the drunk bastard had puked on me. Hey, Ma, thanks for the advice.
Posted by bullwinkle at 10:07 AM