The all-important Prom was approaching. In the vending machine of possible dates for prom, I was not the high end snack, the exotic bag of Funyuns, the popular Snickers, nor the fun pack of mini-doughnuts. Alas, I was the off-brand of Life Savers called "Five Flavors" on the bottom row. The dusty ones. The stale ones. The item in the vending machine that you pick only if you are short of money, desperate and perhaps in a desolate, fluorescent-lighted waiting room at the hospital at 3 am awaiting the impending death of a loved one and it's the only thing left in the vending machine.
OK, OK, it wasn't that bad, but as the days to prom clicked by, it felt like that.
My fellow female classmates were all getting snapped up by the limited number of boys in our class. Now, keep in mind that our entire graduating class consisted of 27 people and most of us had gone through all twelve years of school together. It was just not a good situation. I kept waiting for my personal dream boat to ask me, but he had not taken any interest in me the entire six years that I had thrown myself in front of him. He had not even succumbed to the militaristic charms of my band uniform nor the allure of my prestige as vice president of the Foreign Exchange Club.
So there I was in the hallway when ML came up to me. He was a boy who had come to our school that year, a gangly, skinny, boy with a pinched face and the social charms of a tick. My friends and I had nicknamed him Fly Face because of the purple-green-blue aviator sunglasses he wore all the time. They matched his voice which was high-pitched and wavered in the air, fly-like. "Hey," he said in that slightly buzzing, fly voice, rubbing his hands together. "I know YOU don't have a date to the prom. Wanna go with me?"
Remember, this is what I was looking at:
What would you have done?
What would you have said?
Ask yourself: WWTBD? (What Would Teen Betty Do?)
The answer: tomorrow!