A Date Should Include Making-Out

He appears without warning from behind a tree, brandishing a handgun and pointing it unsteadily in our direction.

“Freeze!!! Drop your weapons!!!”

As I raise my hands above my head, I shoot Chuck a look that pierces his skull and burns out the little area of his brain that had thought this would make an enjoyable afternoon.

This day was just not going the way I had planned.

Let me set the scene for you. It’s 1987. I’ve succeeded in teasing my hair to lofty new heights with a combination of Aqua Net and Aussie Mega-Scrunch Mousse. I’m wearing black stretch capris, black granny boots, and pink slouch socks that match my pink, gray and black sweater. I’m also sporting earrings that are large, dangling pink stars.

I know this all sounds rather hideous, but my tiny ass (it was just a modest bubble back then) looks smokin’ in the stretch pants.

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my boyfriend Chuck’s car. It’s a little blue Toyota something-or-other (I’m not good with cars). He’s survived many car accidents in this little beauty, and it shows. Every corner of this vehicle has been smashed, bashed, and dented in. The back window on the left side is completely gone, but he has woven a formidable replacement out of layers of duct tape.

And on the hood of the car, the crowning glory: a white body outline (a crime scene staple), as if someone met their maker right there, cursing out this reckless lead-foot teenage hooligan with their last screaming breath. From the looks of the car, you consider for a moment that the body outline might actually be real.

No Sleep Til Brooklyn is booming through the sound system. Chuck knows every word.

I’ve been waiting all week to hang out with my boyfriend. We planned on seeing a movie. I’m pretty sure that after the movie, we’ll park the car behind the theater like we always do and have a hot make-out session. That’s the part I’m looking forward to.

“Why are we going this way?”

“Malaney called me. He wants to come to the movie with us.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a third wheel. My plan has been foiled.

“Are we still gonna see Who’s That Girl?”

“Nah, Malaney wants to see Predator.”

A dude movie. How romantic.

Billy: I'm scared Poncho.
Poncho: Bullshit. You ain't afraid of no man.
Billy: There's something out there waiting for us, and it ain't no man. We're all gonna die.

Oh yeah, this shit has them going. They come out of the movie all juiced up on buttered popcorn, Milk Duds, and dangerously high levels of testosterone.

We head back to Malaney’s house to get some BB guns. You heard me… BB guns.

Then we park the car (you know, the one with the body outline) at the end of a very residential street. We are heading into the woods to play Ambush.

What’s Ambush, you ask? I don’t freakin’ know. Malaney gives us a head start.

Reminder: I am dressed like an extra from a Madonna video.

We dart down a trail and scamper up an embankment. I’m skewering dead leaves with the heels of my granny boots. We duck down between some boulders which form a cave-like area. We have a perfect view of the trail below us. Chuck has the BB gun aimed and ready. We wait.

We wait.

We wait for quite some time. Sparrows have begun nesting in my teased mane. Malaney has obviously taken a different trail, and has most likely found himself a similar vantage point. I’m sure he’s got his gun aimed too, ready and waiting.

And waiting.

“This sucks. Someone’s gonna have to make a move in this stupid game.”

We begin our covert mission to uncover the hidden Malaney Hideout. Maybe we can sneak up on him from behind and fire a BB at his ass.

I’m not sure how stealthy I can be in heels. “It’s all fun and games until someone looses an eye,” I whisper.

Chuck’s not listening. He’s spotted something.

Suddenly, shots are fired. Our position has been compromised!

Chuck and Malaney have sprung into action. There are diving rolls, dashes behind trees and rocks, peals of laughter, and BB’s flying everywhere. There’s even some cursing to coincide with the sting of the BB’s.

I am staying a safe distance away, in the middle of the trail, with my arms crossed, pouting. I bet I look quite fetching standing here, with the trees all around me and a nest in my hair. And he’s not even noticing.

I’m not very happy with this date.

I guess from the perspective of the elderly couple on Crestview Drive, it did look a bit menacing: Two men with shotguns... yeah, shotguns! leading a young (cute) girl into the woods. I suppose I would have called the authorities, too.

When the children finally grow bored with their Predator games, we start up the trail toward the car.

He appears without warning from behind a tree, brandishing a handgun and pointing it unsteadily in our direction.

“Freeze!!! Drop your weapons!!!”

As I raise my hands above my head, I shoot Chuck a look that pierces his skull and burns out the little area of his brain that had thought this would make an enjoyable afternoon.

The boys slowly lay their weaponry on the ground. We all have our hands above our heads. A painfully obvious rookie is pointing a gun at us with a precariously shaky hand.

And my hair looks so good today. I even did my nails.

I decide that next week I'll make Chuck take me to see Dirty Dancing. That should increase the odds of a post-movie make-out session. And decrease the odds of anyone wanting to join in.

It would be many years before I looked favorably on the prospect of someone joining in...

*wink*