I dig a pygmy by Charles Hawtrey and the Deaf-Aids. Phase One in which our hero eats his toes.
At first cotillion there was a girl in what we called ‘the creamsicle dress.’ It was delicate orange, standing out like a rose in a patch of weeds–the exact shade of a vanilla Popsicle that was covered in orange candy. The girl wore grey heels, and the combination was pretty eye-catching.
So I’m dancing with a rich town girl named Sara and I make a loose remark about the unknown entity in the creamsicle dress. Sara gets huge eyes. “Oh, that’s Lynn.”
Mind works slowly…………oh shit. THAT Lynn. She was from rich town. Dad owned a restaurant, if memory serves. I didn’t have any classes with her. I keep an eye on her as she twirls–yep,. that’s her. Who the hell knew she could look nice? That should be against the law, who do I write to?
Come break time, Sara is next to me so fast you’d think she had wheels. “Do you like Lynn?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Do you LIKE her?”
Oh, hell. My foot is in my mouth. Angel and devil whisper to me in seductive foreign tongues from my shoulders.
Devil: “Oh yea! Hubba, Hubba! Look at those legs, man! Are you blind?”
Angel: “C’mon. You know you don’t find her attractive at all. What are gonna say to her–‘Gee, I only like you when you wear the orange dress and heels?’ Don’t hurt her. How would you like it?”
Well, I chose Angel, of course. Sara scurries back across the room. Some one asks, what was that all about? “I made a remark about Lynn’s legs before I knew it was her. I almost got engaged to marry her.”
“Creamsicle??? That’s Lynn? What a waste.”
Sigh.
Throughout cotillion, she and I dance many times. She says nothing about this incident.
EPILOGUE: Senior year, high school, early spring. Guy next to me looks down the hall. “Shit!! Who the hell is that walking?”
I follow his eyes. A sad smile reflexively slides down. Yep, I’d know that dress anywhere, same heels, too. Only now the dress is halfway up her thighs. “That’s Lynn.”
“Bullshit.”
“It is, she wore that outfit in seventh grade dances.”
“She kept that thing for 5 years?? Hell, why wear it now?”
“I think she’s fishing for a prom date.”
And for a moment I gazed longingly at her figure, her butt looking like it was shuffling a Pinochle deck. But no, I was right the first time. She was a rich girl, and this would just be a bad match. (I was busy making enough girl mistakes at the time).