Work Game Story

Ahhh. Teenage stories from a coworker:

When I was a senior in high school, my boyfriend’s mother caught us in a compromising position on her couch (“the straddle”). So she made him break up with me. Right before our proms.

Mommy’s Little Boy took some exemplary Catholic girl named Jane to his school’s prom. As my brain was not fully developed at that time, I campaigned vigorously for him to still be able to go to MY prom. I had my mother call his mother. I wrote his mother a letter. I left a tearful message on their answering machine about how I already had a dress and prom tickets.

So she relented. And I got to wear my big poofy peach dress with my crazy permed mullet-esque hair and go to prom with Mr. Nutless.

Prom was super. I vaguely recall dancing to Goody Two Shoes by Adam Ant. After prom? Hotel party. My mother had paid for it. (Crazy, I know.) She even bought us wine coolers. (It was the 80s.) After a while, my friends took off and Doofus decided it would be an awesome time to lose his virginity. Being a complete idiot (aka “teenage girl”), I complied.

Suddenly, the door swung open and my friends were back. “What’s your dress doing on the floor?” they cackled, as I pulled the sheets up to my chin and turned various violent shades of red. They carried on for a while, drank some wine coolers and took off. Wonder Woody (aka “teenage boy”) jumped right back on top of me. He didn’t even need to pop open a fresh condom. It was less than amazing (aka “teenage sex”).

On the way home from the hotel, I saw a dead dog on the highway.

One week later, No-Longer-A-Virgin Boy (aka “horny bastard”) called to announce his mother said we could date again.

I broke up with him.