By Drew MillardWell, I’ve been at this for three months or so now, and I’m sad to report that, no matter how many people think that having one’s own column in the paper is mildly impressive, I still have not gotten one date as a result of this column. Crazy, eh? Who wouldn’t think that a six foot tall skinny kid who can’t bench press his own weight, plays golf and thinks that the movie Zoolander is the highest form of art couldn’t find a female to take out? Beats me.
And yet the problem persists. I am as yet unable to get a date. In fact, since the incipience of this column, I have not been alone in the presence of a female, even casually. Of course, I’m writing this about a month before it will get printed, so there is a distinct possibility that I’ll find a date in the time between now to this column’s publication, therefore rendering its entire existence moot; however, I’ll chance it, as I’ve got a good mood set.
More importantly, I haven’t a prom date. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept of a prom date, it is essentially this: you go and take a person of the opposite gender out to get some food, then back to a predetermined location to dance. And that’s it. Oh, and you’re wearing some fancy clothes, and your date is most likely wearing a way-too-expensive dress. Fun, eh?
So in case you’re a prom-dateless high-school girl, here are my qualifications in the prom date arena. I don’t look bad in a suit. I’ll be a gentleman, making sure to compliment your surely radiant dress. While we won’t be traveling in a limo, whatever vehicle we’d be traveling in will surely have some darn good music in it, as I have impeccable musical taste. I won’t care if you dance with other guys once we get to the prom in and of itself (Aside to those not intimately familiar with the concept of prom: there are two usages of the word "Prom." One being the entire experience of Prom — the going out to eat, the ride there, the dancing, going out afterwards — and the other being the prom itself, being "the place where there will be dancing in fancy clothes.").
On the other hand, I shall utilize what little manhood I have left and admit that while I may be perfectly smart, athletic, mildly proficient at golf, and semi-good-looking, I cannot, have not, nor never will be able to dance. This, being augmented by the fact that I’m not man enough to ask someone to prom, is the principle reason that I cannot find a date. My legend as a bad dancer has risen throughout the years so that nobody even tries any more. I can’t keep a beat, I can’t follow time, and I sure as heck can’t attempt to do the two with a partner whilst simultaneously trying to look cool. This will just not happen. But this could somehow be construed as a good thing: being unfettered by such constraints as the threat of my rampant jealousy, my date will feel completely unobligated to dance with me, instead freeing herself up to work the room and have fun, because trust me, I wouldn’t want to be seen dancing with me either.
So all you females out there between the ages of fifteen and twenty, I need one of you to take to the prom. I have laid myself out on the line, outlining how I’m adequate and inadequate, and now I’m asking you to pass judgment on my worth. This is an open invitation for one of you to be my prom date. There will be eating, there will be dancing, there will be singing, there will be music, there will be carousing, and there will be happiness. But only if you come to prom with me.
