The Worst First
My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There’s vomit on my sweater already: mom’s tikka masala. I think we can all remember back to our first date – I however, actively choose to block such memories. But because I love you all so much I will walk you through my painful existence.
Rewind back to freshman year of high school, strategically two weeks before homecoming. The idea was that I would, obviously, nail the date and then take her to the dance. Great plan, right? Of course, it was gonna be dope. Execution on the other hand? Well, far from that.
So, it’s an hour before game time and I had no what my game plan was. I. I sat idle with a blank stare facing my closet. Okay, remember what you learned in middle school art class: complementary colors work best, right? I grab a pair of khakis, a baby blue shirt, and my all white low-top Converses . It’s not like I really had much of a choice to wear as just like all my homework, I procrastinated with my laundry as well.
And then I hear it, the beginning of the end: “Konain, come help with the dishes!”. This was the last I wanted, smelling like dirty dish water before the date, but hey, this was part of the deal. Where else am I gonna get my date money from? I’m wrist deep finishing what was left of the dishes and then it happens. My brother tosses his plate in, food flying everywhere. Cue tikka...