Sock puppets are not known as romantics.

After I finished high school, I started at a local community college and compared to how I am now, very reserved. This was for good reason, I didn’t know anyone and just wanted to get the whole thing over with. This didn’t sit well with my friend Zach who thought that as a teenager; I should be out partying and doing asinine things. So one night, he calls me up (I only had a home phone, because I really hate cell phones) and invites me to a party being held at a friend of a friend of a friend (this is apparently the norm for these kinds of parties). Considering I had already exhausted my evenings plans of sitting in my boxers and eating a TV dinner, I accepted.

This was a mistake.

Zach promised me as we drove to the house that he would hang out with me so I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed or anything and he guaranteed he would introduce me to some of his friends, that he was sure I would get on with famously. My hopes started to rise up like a kite made out of discarded beer cans and early-stage alcoholism. This was going to be fun! I’m going to just relax, unwind and enjoy myself.

As soon as we enter the house, Zach makes a beeline for the kitchen where the keg is and strands me in the living room. My first thought after the panic died down, was that the conversations going on must not be that important since you can’t hear anything over the music. I went to the kitchen, helped myself to a drink and found a spot on a couch that didn’t have vomit, beer, or godknowswhatthehellthatis on it and started drinking, staring straight ahead at a TV that was off.

After about an hour of this, I got up and tried to engage my fellow party-goers (partiers?) in some light conversation. Unfortunately, my understanding of Pokemon and Smash Bros. did not translate well. Mom was right, shit.

“You look like you’re having fun.” I turn around and see an absolute vision in front of me. She was one of those women who seemed pulled from every fantasy ever. I smiled and immediately ran back to the safety of the clean part of the couch.

She sat down next to me, every person at the partys gaze followed her. Conversations died in her wake, friends nudged eachother, pointed at her, at me, and then walked away.

Clearly jealous.

We hit it off, turns out she liked a lot of the same things I do. As the night progesses, I start to loosen up and the conversation takes a more…intimate tone. Eventually, she leans in and asks me if I would like to go upstairs to see her room. I page through all the Bond and suave responses from my pop culture collection and smoothly say, “YES PLEASE.”.

She takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs. Zach at this point, staggers out of the kitchen, sees me and her, laughs and gives me a thumbs up. I return the thumbs up and give the hero nod.

Her room is all blacked out curtains and smooth jazz. I think to myself that she must really like romantic one-night stands. She asks me to have a seat while she slips into something more comfortable. She opens the doors to her walk-in closet, closing them behind her. I adopt my most sensual pose, it looks like a sloth reaching for a high branch while scratching its stomach. Nailed it.

Things start to go awry as I hear two distinct voices coming from the closet. Seemingly in agreement, then argument only to go back to agreement again. I wonder if she has a friend that lives in her closet.

The doors slide open and I take in the full view of her from the feet up. Garter belt attached to those weird clippy things that make no sense whatsoever attached to a black neglige. Her right arm is resting against the closet, my eyes track up to what looks like a barrier of elastic.

Followed by cotton, yellow yarn, a pair of googly eyes and lipstick. She smiled seductively at me and in a deep voice, her socks mouth opened, “I’m Eunice.”

Oh God.

I slowly move towards the pile of my clothes, careful to not startle her. Similar to how prey moves around a predator. Or how normal people move around those that are trying to be sensual while wearing athletic gear on their arms.

Eunice’s glazed eyes watch me like a snake when the girl asks me, “Whats wrong?” I smile, terrified. I assure her it’s nothing, but I’ve got a test tomorrow and really need to get back home. My shorts are on, my hand is on the door, I’m almost free as I step across the barrier.

She dive tackles me into the hallway.

I scream my manliest scream and Zach looks up at us. He gives me another drunken thumbs up. My rapid hand movements and terror pee assure him this is not a thumbs up situation. He drops his beer, bounding up the steps as she drags me, nails scraping on carpet back into the room.

The door locks.

She flips me onto my back and it is at this moment that Zach kicks the door in. Girl with sock puppet, me in boxers crying, soft jazz, candles.

It’s an odd sight.

I use the distraction to my advantage. I punch Eunice in the face, POW, she goes flying. One googly eye lands on the nightstand. Zach picks me and my clothes up as he runs us out of the house.

The partiers downstairs are treated to the sight of a guy, one hand beer, another hand clothes, half naked guy slung over shoulder crying and pointing upstairs to a bewildered woman with a one-eyed sock puppet, “You are not a very nice lady!”

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About gerrimyke

Nothing much to say really. A while back, I started to notice that as I was telling friends stories of my life, they were unsure if they were true or not. Then when they found out they were, suggested I write them down. So here we are.
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