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13 January 2008 @ 01:57 am
I was looking at the community spotlight thingy, and the Unwritten community caught my eye and interest. Basically, a short prompt (usually a couple of words or a picture) is put up a day and you write basically whatever the heck you want in the comments section. Well, me being me, I got a little carried away with one of the prompts and I'm a little proud of the result, so I'm posting it here too. 

She felt all her muscles in her stiffen in shock. She could not believe it. He was actually flossing at the table. Flossing! On a date! Who did that? Who carried around strings of floss, wrapped securely in blue saran wrap, in their wallet to whip out at a moments notice? Condoms, she got. Photos, why not? Her ex-boyfriend used to carry around a rubber band in a credit card fold, shoplifted after their first meeting in the office supply aisle of Wal-Mart. That was kind of sweet. But, floss? Seriously?
He pulled the string through his back molars a couple of times. Man, why was this bothering her so much? So, he liked his teeth to be tidy. Was that such a big deal?
YES, her thoughts screamed back. It was a big deal. He could’ve excused himself discreetly and went through this whole performance in the bathroom. Now there’s an idea, genius. When you’re on a date, you don’t want to give her any reason to gawk at you. He could’ve just avoided food that had a high stick-to-teeth ratio. You know, stuff like popcorn, or peaches, or corn on the cob. She could even handle him grabbing a toothpick on the way out the door. But, floss? Come on! He’s not even a freakin’ dentist!
She added “flosses at the table” right under “likes Kenny G” and “weirdly smells like soup” on her growing mental list of all the reasons why Steve would be the last guy on earth that she would go out on a second date with. If he kept this up, he might take the “Worst Date” title from Mike Thomas, her junior prom date that spilled Coke down the front of her aquamarine dress (that couldn’t be dry-cleaned, by the way), disappeared as soon as they walked into the school gym, and then ralphed on her shoes at the end of the night (apparently, he had downed 3 berry wine coolers in the boy’s locker room with the rest of his idiot friends). Come to think of it, Steve was making Wine Cooler Mike look like Cary Grant right now.
She cringed as he brought the floss to his two front teeth. She saw bits of food and plaque stuck to the minty green string. Oy vey, this was going way beyond disturbing. This was seriously making her sick. She picked up her appletini (that he had insisted on ordering for her, by the way. Who the hell was this guy? J.D. from Scrubs?) and drained the rest of the drink in one gulp.
Steve grinned at her as he extracted the floss from his teeth and set it on his plate. “So, Lauren,” he began, exaggerating every mouth movement so she could catch a glimpse of his now clean teeth. God, who was this guy? Where the heck did Sam, her roommate, dig him up? Mental note: never, EVER, go out on a blind date set up by Sam again. Especially when she describes him as “interesting.” What in the world was she thinkinga?
Steve coughed as he cleared his throat (and did not cover his mouth, by the way. What is with him? He is freakishly obsessed with his teeth but didn’t even hesitate to spread his grody germs all over his unsuspecting date). “So Lauren,” he started again, “Sam tells me that you are great with kids. I love kids.”
“That’s, uh, great Steve,” she commented absently, attempting to communicate telepathically with the sympathetic waiter who had kept the alcohol coming all night. Maybe he could cause a diversion while she quietly slipped away. ‘Look over here,’ she chanted to him. ‘Look this way…’
“You better think about settling down soon,” Steve continued. “You have that biological clock to worry about. Tick-tock.”
Mental note: Kill Sam for setting this entire hellish night up. Start TiVo-ing shows on CBS and Agatha Christie mysteries on PBS to learn how to make it look like an accident.
‘I’m 27, you imbecile,’ she wanted to scream at him. But, instead, she reached under the table for her purse, fingers scrambling until she felt the familiar shape of her cell phone. As Steve droned on about fertility tips and the dangers of waiting too long to have kids, she opened the phone under the table and found the text message screen. Her fingers expertly danced across the necessary keys and she composed a message to Sam while feigning interest in Steve’s “helpful suggestions” by nodding and keeping eye contact.
To: Sam 445-6217
From: Lauren 445-8007
Steve=worst date ever! I’m going 2 kill u! Call in 10 mins w/ ‘emergency’ 2 get me out of this hellhole.
“So, Lauren,” Steve started again, still completely unaware of her actions under the tablecloth.  “Have you started planning for retirement?”
Jeez. She resisted the urge to ram her head in the table. Rusty hedgeclippers was looking like the best way to off Sam now.
This was going to be a long night.
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