Disco Dream Date
A friend decided to set me up on a blind date with a buddy of her boyfriend's. Not really thrilled about it, I agreed to only have pizza on a double date. Harmless enough, right? The night of the big event, Henry showed up at my door wearing 3 inch "disco" elevator shoes and very tight polyester pants that left very little to the imagination. His silk shirt was unbuttoned enough to see a few measly hairs on his chest, which were rather opulently adorned with gold chains. You know, very "medallion man" from the 70's. The look on my father's face when he opened the door was priceless. There was Henry, standing all of 5 feet tall (I'm 5'8" without heels) in his elevator shoes and retro disco garb. Both my dad and I thought it was a joke. Laughing hysterically (to myself), I walked out to my friends who were waiting in the car, only to find them wondering why I was laughing. "I see you've met Henry," she spouts. "Hop in the back." I looked up to see a classic El Camino, which did not have a back seat. It was more like a pick up truck, but with a shell. We were forced to lay down on our stomachs next to each other in the back of this car while being driven on our dream date. Henry spent the entire evening shoveling pizza down his throat and talking about himself and how wonderful he was. He kept pawing at me at every chance. Still in daze and not quite sure if I should be looking for a hidden camera by the end of the evening, I said thank you and walked quickly into the house. I figured that was it. I'd never see my "friends" or their pint sized escort again. Several days later, Henry wrote me a letter "breaking up" with me, citing that I was too self-centered and high maintenance for him. Did I miss something?
— Vanessa, 23