My First Date. Part 2 of 2: The Battle of Non-sex, Sex Brain and Apu the Monkey Girl.

So here we are, finally! Me and my Juliet, alone at last! We smile, shyly and I clear my throat, start the car as we head to the classiest restaurant I could afford on my Target paycheck: Dennys.
It’s at this point that I start to realize in the part of my brain that isn’t blinded by a pretty smile and a nice body that perhaps this girl isn’t quite my type.
I promptly ignore it when she laughs at one of my jokes.
She and I trade stupid grins at one another.
Then I hear an odd noise.
Something that sounds like a kind of…shuffling. A rubbing of flesh of fabric.
I shrug it off as just another thing wrong with my piece of shit car. You know, because I’m an idiot.
We pull into the Denny’s. I get out first, race to her side and open the passenger side door for her. Because everything I learned about dating and how to treat the opposite sex was from pop culture.
She gracefully slides out of the car, very kindly not kicking out any of the garbage that had accumulated in front of the passenger seat.
I slip my arm in hers and we walk; hand in hand to the Denny’s entrance.
That’s when I hear that sound again, except this time it’s different. More like how you would imagine a tiny helicopter blade would sound.
I ask her if she hears anything, she smiles innocently; tells me no and leans down a bit (because of course, she’s taller than me) to kiss me briefly on the cheek.
I completely forgot what I was talking about and grin an idiots grin.
Door held open, check.
Mentally, I remind myself not to check out her ass. That wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do, Gerrimy! My eyes drift everywhere else as I slide in behind her.
While at Denny’s we make more small talk. The kind that people who don’t know anything about eachother make when they want to know more about one another, but are not sure how to do it because they’re both idiots.
Occasionally, I’ll make some dumb ass joke and she peals out a laugh. It is at moments like that when I could swear someone is flipping pancakes or something directly behind her. Shrugging it off again, we finish our meal and I suggest we go back to my place.
Someone is very aggressively tossing pancakes.
“That sounds like fun,” she says “but I told my parents I would come home.” her eyes light up, “I know! How about you stay the night? My parents would be fine with it, they’re super laid-back!”
“Oh really? I couldn’t tell!” I reply with deadpan humor.
So it’s decided. I’ll go home, grab a change of clothes and a night bag; meet back up at her place and stay the night.
I show up at around 11pm and she answers wearing a nightgown. She tells me her parents, Bubbles and Slammer are asleep already in their hospital beds (apparently, they have to sleep in individual hospital beds because due to their bulk, if they were to sleep in a regular bed they would die. Like horses or cattle. After this, I just assume that all carnies sleep this way.) and won’t be up until morning.
She takes me to the guest bedroom, it’s a very well adorned room. Lace doilies, bookshelves and the moonlight glints softly off the heads of…
Victorian era
porcelain dolls.
She tells me that these were all Bubbles when she was growing up (of fucking course they were).
Any sense of excitement I had evaporates as I look into the dead eyes of doll after doll.
She kisses me on the mouth, oh well nevermind then.
A soft patter emanates directly behind her.
My non-sex driven brain finally decides enough is enough and demands I ask about this damn noise.
“OK, do you know anything about this? I keep hearing something, but I’m not sure what it is.” I proceed to describe it to her and then, in the presence of me, God and hundreds of figurines she turns around and lifts up the back of her dress.
A three-inch tail. Sprouting from the base of her spine sadly sways in the same moonlight.
I blink and cock my head to the side, lean in closer and poke it.
It wiggles slightly and I giggle like an excited five year old with a new toy.
She hears this and the tail starts wagging rapidly, like a windshield wiper on high. “So you’re OK with it? It doesn’t freak you out? I was so worried!”
My non-sex brain is screaming, but completely overloaded with the sheer amount of strange that this date has buried it under; promptly throws up its hands and gives up.
“Of course I’m cool with it!” says sex-brain.
After these words leave my mouth non-sex lets out one last scream and dies.
She jumps on me, shoving me backfirst onto the bed; misjudging her distance, she accidentally slams my head onto the nearest shelf of dolls.
10 porcelain dolls fall from the shelf and shatter themselves on my head.
I lose consciousness and dream I’m being chased by a million puppies with dead eyes, all wearing cocktail dresses.
About 15 minutes later, I open my eyes to her with a panicked stare pulling me up, telling me I have to leave, that her parents will hate me forever for breaking her dolls.
She has already handed me my bag and is bustling me into the doorway, when this happens:
My brain, still recieving blood and oxygen again doesn’t have a chance to stop my mouth from saying the following words. Words that ensure neither she, her parents, or her friends at work ever speak to me again.
“So you don’t want a bananna?”


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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