Prom Night Nightmare

Two miracles occurred that I never would have guessed: I asked her to the Prom, for one, and second, she said yes. The girl I had it bad for since early seventh grade; the picture of perfection: Ms. Kimmie Lynne Slade. I pulled up to her house, looking stellar in my tux. I try to front modesty, but honestly I looked like a million bucks. She emerged from her front door. The moment was surreal. An angel descending from Heaven, but with much more sex appeal. My eyes were tearing up; not because I was going to cry. Earlier, I accidentally sprayed Binaca in my eye. Kimmie floated towards my car. Her legs long, smooth, and tan. In a dress sure to impress and shorter than my attention span.

Her hair was long and flowing. Her eyes were as bright as her smile. Most of her skin was showing. I was grinning from ear to ear, looking a bit like Gomer Pyle. I opened the passenger's door, letting her in with careful attention. And did I forget to mention that her behind is borderline divine intervention? I closed the door and ran around the back of the car, clapping my hands with glee. I was going to the Prom with Kimmie Lynne Slade and she was going with me. We shared some smalltalk driving along and, as we were crossing a bridge, she was distracted, so I adjust the rear-view and got me a peek at that cleavage. Then there was silence. And that's when it happened. How was I to know? It crept up like a phantom. Hit like a stun gun. Kimmie Lynne Slade... Let one go.