My Only Blind Date, Continued

{Read Part 1 Here.}

So we get to the prom, and it’s painfully obvious that we’re sitting at the loser table.  Not that the occupants were losers, per se, but it was definitely the loser table.  There was a tall girl wearing a dress with feathers… and a feather boa… and a feather in her hair.  I felt like I was sitting next to Big Bird.  Except I don’t think Big Bird wears eye glitter or keeps alcohol in his handbag.  Her date could’ve been a cardboard cutout.  He sat there and didn’t move and didn’t talk.  Bird Girl, who was actually cute if you could get past the whole parrot-channeling thing, explained that they’re “just friends.”

Anyway, Tom felt the need to introduce his date to all the cool kids.  We got incredulous stares because I’m pretty sure everyone figured Tom’s date was going to be of the inflatable sort.  And even though Tom’s creepy and sleazy and made me take pictures with his face touching mine, I decided to bring my A-game for Tom.  Cause the cool kids can be mean, and I’m a sucker for an underdog.  I just wished this underdog was of the nerdy-shy type instead of the gross “I watch MTV music videos for the booty dancing” type.

So I was amicable and introduced myself to everyone as Tom’s friend, and said I had been looking forward to being his date… and the food’s great… and I love dancing… and that Tom’s a fun guy.

And then I stopped, because Tom was starting to give me amorous looks.

We ate dinner, and I mostly talked to Bird Girl.

And then the dancing started.  I know I wrote a tutorial on How to Dance in Polite Social Situations, but I fully need to write the high school version of How to Dance at a Prom, Alternate Title: How Not to Look Like a Big Pile of Shame, Regret, and Shiny Polyester.

Everyone was dancing – probably to DMX or something equally depraved.  I spaced myself a good three feet away from Tom, but Tom kept moving in… and dancing closer.. and trying to put his arm around my waist.  ::shudder::  So I kept backing up and tried to gracefully employ a “Keep your hands to yourself unless you want to become an amputee” rule, but it was. not. working.

I excused myself to go use the ladies’ room to psych myself up for the next (checks watch) four hours (what the WHAT?  Four more hours?) of prom fantasticness.  I was desperate.  If Tom winked at me one more time, I swore I was going to yell that I had a bomb in my purse.  Because jail time was a lot more appealing than Tom time.  It was 8:00pm, and I was heavily considering committing a felony.

I am not sure if I should reveal this next part to you.  I’m not sure if you’re going to hate me or be proud of me or just feel like eating Cheetos.  And I’m feeling a little ashamed about what I did, but I’m going to share this with you anyway.  Exhaaaaale.

I went up to Tom on the dance floor and casually said, “I like Bird Girl.  She’s nice.”

Tom (step, step, thrust a hip):  Yeah, she is nice.

Me (step backward, step backward, shoulder shrug):  She’s pretty, too.

Tom (jerks head Night at the Roxbury style): Yeah, she is pretty.

Me (arms in the air, shake right, shake right): I think she likes you.

Tom (stands still): Really??

Me: Yeah.

Tom: Wow.

Me:  I need some water.

I headed over back to our table and sat down back next to Bird Girl.

Me:  Tom’s a good dancer, but I can’t keep up.  You should head out there with him.

Bird Girl:  Aren’t you two dating?

Me:  Oh, gosh, no.  We’re just friends.  Practically related.

{silence}

Me:  In fact… Tom likes you.

Bird Girl:  Really?

Me:  Yeah.  He told me that he thinks you’re pretty.

Bird Girl:  Really?

Me:  He did.

Bird Girl:  He IS cute.

Me:  You should go dance with him!

Exactly ten minutes later, they were in a heartfelt embrace, dancing to Stairway to Heaven, with Bird Girl’s feather boa shrouding them like a fluffy, bedazzled scarf of love.  I walked up to them, whispered a question in Bird Girl’s ear, and she responded that yes, she’d be happy to take Tom home.

Either I’m five kinds of genius or I’m a really crappy person, but in that moment, I did not care. Because I walked out of that prom from hell with my heels in my hand at 8:15pm, sans criminal record.