Please Tell Me This Isn’t a Date

We shift in our chairs, uncomfortable. Mom and Dad apparently had to go to the theater on short notice — something about Mom being part of Mama Mia or something. I don’t know. What I do know is that now I am sitting here having pasta primavera in candle light (thanks to my mother) with our twenty-something handy-man named Joseph. Don’t get me wrong, Joey is cute and I’m twenty three, so it would work out, but this is waaaay weird. We’re even in the dining room. My parents and I never eat in the dining room; we eat on the couch because Dad doesn’t like to miss his football games. Thanks oh so much, Mom.

“So you’re Amy,” Joey says carefully, swirling spaghetti around his fork. “Your mom’s told me a lot about you.” He spooned the noodles into his mouth.

Does he chew with his mouth open all the time? I wonder, watching him carefully and wanting to puke. He’s got die-for green eyes and this thick brown hair that is the envy of every male model, I am sure.

“But I haven’t heard enough about you.” He swallows. He talks with his mouth full! I think, wanting to run screaming away from the table.

I quickly jam my mouth full with pasta as I see Mom pop up behind Joey, on the other side of the glass door, thank goodness. She mouths “Smile” and I want to scream. So I smile, swallowing quickly. “I won a trophy. For hockey.” I didn’t bother to mention that I had won it in Pee-Wee Hockey when I was in kindergarten.

“Cool! What for?” Joey asks eagerly. Oh, gosh. Somebody shoot me… HE WANTS TO KNOW MORE!!! I try to keep my breathing normal and not choke on my salad. Think, Amy, think! I tell myself. Hockey terminology…

Coming up empty, I reply “Um… hockey?” I am really bombing. My first…wait, am I starting to think of this as a “date?” Strictly boss-to-worker thing here. Keep focused, Amy. What do you know about hockey?

Joey laughs. “Smart aleck,” he chuckles. “No, seriously, what did you get it for? Let me guess… outstanding goalie?” He laughs harder, so I fake-laugh with him. Best not alienate him right now, I can do that with my horrendous social skills later. Where is my mother when I need her? She can make conversation spring up out of thin air, get people laughing within 5 seconds of them being around her. I make people sit on their hands in awkward silence.

“Hockey,” I say again, going completely brain dead. This is going way downhill, and fast. Who knew that I could be such a social weirdo? “I won it for hockey. Can you excuse me?” I get up and go straight to my room, never to come out. Joey can tell my parents what a complete nut case I am on “dates.” For now, I’m going to crawl under my covers with my reserve stash of chocolate. Good-bye and good night!

By Jonlyn, June 2008