It’s natural to be nervous on your first date. It’s an exciting time for a teenager. After all, it could be a lifelong relationship. But, let’s be honest, it’s not. Nevertheless, hours of preparation goes into making it a memorable time for not only you but the date you’re trying to impress.
For Gabe, he went to the mall to find just the right sweater and pants to go with his fancy shoes. (Odd for a pool party, but whatevs.) Gabe even considered calling the girl to find out what she was wearing so they could be matching. (No, just no.) Instead, Gabe settled on a sports team hoodie because they were going to an NBA game. He decided to dress down and not up for the occasion.
Checking his shoes and making sure his pants were stain-free, Gabe rushed to wash his car so that it wouldn’t look like, well, his dad’s that he was secretly pretending was his. During the soapy session, the hoodie got soaking wet so he threw it into the dryer in the middle of a laundry cycle.
In the bathroom, he smothered nearly every inch of visible skin with choke-inducing cologne. He checked between each teeth multiple times to make sure he wasn’t bringing unwanted food on the date. He did a brief hair check-in, knowing he’d need to give it a re-style once his hoodie was back on. As if timed to perfection, the buzz of the dryer sounded and the Gabester rushed downstairs to get dressed.
Looking at the time he knew it was less than an hour before the game started so he did a final hair check as he grabbed the (borrowed) car and ran out the door. Nervously, he drove while compulsively checking the handwritten address on a piece of paper that was almost entirely smudged by his sweaty fingers.
Gabe was the ultimate gentleman and sat in the car staring straight ahead as the girl made her way to the passenger side. He thought it would be playing things cool if he ignored her and happened to do a, “Oh, you’re here… at my car. What a surprise” thing but… he came across like a dick. So, she opened the door for herself and sat down. Gabe, still looking through the windshield as if he were too cool for the date, said “hey” and almost brushed her off.
She buckled herself in and told him he looked nice. Rather than returning the compliment he told her how much the hoodie cost. He gave it a tug in that moment and looked down to notice he had “jeans boner.” (You know what that is: when the crotch of your jeans protrudes like you’re tenting inside.)
Gabe immediately rushed his left hand down to flatten it when he noticed a different bulge; this one, though, in the hoodie. As he began to drive, Gabe, again with his left hand, reached into the hoodie’s front pocket pouch to feel what was inside. It felt silky, almost spandexy. Examining it with his fingers he knew it was something that didn’t belong in the hoodie. Eventually, because he was distracted by his hoodie’s surprise and nearly crashed the car, his date asked if everything was OK.
“Yeah, I just don’t know what this…” and with that, Gabe pulled out a pink bra from his hoodie. He slammed on the brakes, almost giving his date whiplash. The girl, instantly curious about why Gabe was carrying a bra and, more importantly, whose it was, Gabe turned as rosy as a stowaway, well, undergarment.
“Is that your girlfriend’s?” she asked in horror. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Gabe, insisting it was his mom’s, assured her that he’d never been with a girl before, nor had he ever been in a relationship. He was able to convince her, based on the style and how it wasn’t fashionable, that it couldn’t have belonged to a young woman. Convinced, she laughed off the moment and agreed to continue the date.
In the end, the basketball season lasted longer than the relationship. Too bad, bra-h.