Worst Date Ever

My worst date ever happened when I was only 16. I was at that stage in my life where I really didn't know who or what I was, my whole identity seemed to have been assigned for me by the activities I participated in at school. Back in the 80's, if you were a Cheerleader - you were simply "assigned" this certain group of friends, and "assigned" a certain personality to go along with your cute little outfit. Maybe no one ever actually said we had to date only football players, but it sure felt as if that's what was expected. I can't really remember anyone following me into the mall and insisting I buy only DeeCee shirts, Candies shoes, and Jordache jeans either - but these too seemed to be the requirement. My Mom of all people rented the Nicholas Cage/Deborah Foreman movie, Valley Girl on VHS tape, and we watched it together one night when my Father was working late. Perhaps it was the movie, I mean - how can you lose with a tag line like: She's cool, he's hot, she's from the Valley, he's not? Or maybe it was the story my Mother told me afterward about my Father. She explained that he wasn't from the "Valley" either, and that at the time, all her friends had almost disowned her for dating him. He'd been a Rebel, a greased back hair, black biker boot wearing, unfiltered Camel smoking - Rebel - and she'd loved him madly. He'd turned out to be an okay kind of guy, Mom had always been happy, and he wasn't too shabby in the Dad department either. So I started thinking, maybe - just maybe - I should break the jock strap and find myself a wild card too! Yeah - I'd be just like my Mom and Julie, and my super cool out of school dude would be just like my James Dean Dad and Randy. Yeah.

As luck would have it, I'd met some older chicks who were already out of school on the previous weekend at a party, and I had one of their phone numbers. I called the number and got Kathy - or Kat - as she preferred. I told Kat I was tired of the regular Friday night stuff around town, didn't really want to cruise all night long, and ask her what she had on the hook for the weekend. She told me she was going out to the lake with her super cool out of school boyfriend, Dave. Figures. My disappointment must have been audible, because Kat picked right up on it. She told me to stay by the phone, she was going to call Dave at his - get this - job! How cool was that? An out of school guy with a car AND a job! She'd ask him if his friend Mike was seeing anyone, and if not - maybe we could double up. She said double up! As in - a cool out of school dude of my own - hanging - with the much older and more mature Kat and her man! I waited for what seemed an eternity for Kat to phone me back, finally - mercifully - the phone rang. "Pick ya up at 7, be ready, Dave hates to wait." That's all Kat said… but that's all I needed to hear!

Cool stuff, cool - older - stuff to wear. But what? Torn jeans, most defiantly, but all I had was super tight Jordache. Black - something black - and sexy, it had to be sexy. But all I had was pastel colored Izods. Oh this sucked! How was I going to impress a super cool out of school dude, looking like the poster child for the Future Business Leaders of America? Then it hit me - my floor routine and work out clothes! I had a black leotard, I also had black leg warmers! All I needed now was a denim mini skirt, some big metal jewelry, and at least 2 cans of Aqua Net Super Hold. Mission accomplished - with half an eye liner pencil used to "accentuate" my eyes, and some blood red lipstick - I didn't look like a Cheerleader anymore! Seven o'clock couldn't have taken longer to arrive - nor could have Dave. They were late, but as soon as I heard the horn honk in the driveway - all was forgiven. Tonight was the night my life would change. Outside in that Ford Bronco with the missing exhaust system was my destiny! No rules, no peer pressure, no cookie cutter people in matching outfits.

Be cool - I reminded myself - as I tried to get a sideways glance at the bad boy of my dreams in the dark second seat of the Bronco. Kat was laying across the console between the two front bucket seats, trying to rescue a cassette tape that sounded like it was being eaten by the tape deck on the dash, with her head in Dave's lap. Dave was pretending she was doing something else entirely. It was really hard to see in the dark, and Mike had on a backwards ball cap - but it appeared as if he had really long black hair. How cool is that? Rock star hair! He had on torn jeans, I could see his knee caps, and a black concert tee from the last Def Leppard tour. He had a cigarette in one hand, and drinking Jack Daniels straight from the bottle with his other hand. With the help of the glow from the next street light we passed under, I saw a tattoo - a tattoo! - on his forearm. This was too cool. Kat, Dave, Mike, me - me - driving way too fast, drinking whiskey, smoking cigarettes, blaring Whitesnake. We cruised main for a while, peeled tires, got to-go burgers, then Dave drove us to the lake.

Kat and Dave disappeared from the Bronco, saying they were going skinny dipping. Mike just sort of sat there, smoking his 87th cigarette. I finally broke the silence by asking him… "So, you known Kat and Dave long?" He told me he worked with Dave at the garage, and that Kat was Dave's new girlfriend, but that he'd known Dave's last girlfriend pretty well - they'd all lived together. I ask how come I had never saw him around before, and he explained that he'd been "away" a while, in jail, just got back a couple months ago. Trying to find some common ground, I told him I had cousins who'd graduated years back, maybe he knew some of them - and he informed me that was doubtful - he'd dropped out in 9th grade. I had completely ran out of questions to ask him, or, should I say - questions I wanted to hear the answer to, so I'd fallen silent. "Want a hit?" Mike ask, handing me a joint. Oh man, moment of truth here, be cool - be cool. "Nah, don't wanna down my buzz, but maybe later." I'd heard someone use that excuse before, and hoped it didn't sound as lame to him as it had to me. Mike didn't say anything, he seemed happy to bogart the joint in silence. When he finally finished it, he crushed it out between his fingers and stuck the roach in his pants pocket. I was really wishing Kat and Dave would return, but they were no where in sight.

I tried to look really busy starring out the window, but Mike didn't seem to notice, I felt his hand moving up my thigh. His hair was still holding some level of interest for me, I wanted to see it, run my fingers through it, so I put my arms around his neck and pushed his ball cap off. I raised my fingers to run them thru his hair and had just closed my eyes to lean into his first kiss - when I felt it. Right there in the middle of his head, hidden all this time by that damn ball cap, was a BALD spot! A no hair covering it, past the point of a comb over - bald spot! Super cool Randy type dudes did not have bald spots - people's DAD'S had bald spots! How old WAS this guy? And why was he pretending to be a super cool out of school bad boy? Pervert! No matter how I tried to maintain composure, that bald spot had me transfixed, it had taken on a life of it's own - it even looked like it was spreading in the moon light. "Uh… Mike… Mike… hey… how old did you say you were?" I stammered. "22, why?" He answered. Oh no reason - I just didn't know people went BALD at 22! Of course, I didn't say that out loud - but the words repeated themselves over and over in my head.

So - there I sat, alone in a Bronco with a guy suffering from male pattern baldness, who smoked dope, drank whiskey, dropped out of school, and went to jail. Maybe I didn't know exactly who I was, or what I wanted, but I was pretty sure by this point that Mike was not my destiny. Finally, Kat and Dave returned, and the date with the bald spot ended. Mike called me a few times, but I managed to blow him off long enough that he finally moved out without contempt or incident. Years passed, I changed, grew up - maybe. Then one day I met a guy who just blew my pantyhose off. Super cool, easy to talk to, drop dead sexy, great eyes and teeth. Blond curls sticking out from under a John Deere tractor ball cap. I go in deep for that first kiss and feel of his curls slipping thru my fingers and - you guessed it - slick city! I married a baldie. I did. So - long story short - at least my worst date ever didn't scar me for life. Right?