Crap.
A zit.
But what did I expect?
From one lousy chocolate bar to the tip of my nose.
What was I thinking when I ate that candy? Chocolate always caused me to break out. Maybe I bought it in celebration of Mary Lou Finklebean’s agreeing to go to the prom with me. I had been building up my courage to ask her out from the beginning of the school year. First I grabbed the desk right in front of her in English class and found every reason in the world to turn around at the first of class to say something.
“Did you think the homework was hard?”
“Boy, that was a downpour this morning. I see you didn’t get wet at all.”
“I thought your solo in the music program last night was swell.”
Mary Lou had a fair porcelain complexion and naturally pink lips. Her eyes were an unusually dark shade of blue, and her hair was almost black. And dimples. Very deep and got even deeper when she smiled. Which was almost all the time. And her little nose was like a button which crinkled.
Unlike my nose which was a huge honker with the most disgusting angry red pimple at the very tip. It was about to produce a stark white center and then, watch out.
Maybe I bought the chocolate candy because I was nervous. I always ate chocolate when I was nervous. This was going to be my first dance and my first date with Mary Lou. I knew she could dance. She danced in school shows all the time. Mary Lou Finklebean could do everything well and smile and crinkle her cute little button nose all at the same time. I had to learn how to dance from my father. For one thing, he insisted on leading, and he was six foot four and almost 250 pounds. Mary Lou was five foot two and as light as a feather. No wonder I was nervous.
Why was I crazy enough in the first place to ask her to the prom? I had never taken a wrong step in my entire life. Never volunteered to do anything so I couldn’t mess things up. I never raised my hand in class, so I couldn’t answer a question wrong. And I never, ever tried out for any sports team, so I couldn’t drop the ball in front of the whole school. I had been very careful to be safe. Why did I have to get brave the last month of my senior year in high school?
Because Mary Lou Finklebean was cute and entrancing. I forgot to fade into the crowd. But why did she say yes? I couldn’t have been the only guy who wanted to take her to the prom. Maybe Mary Lou had a secret, vicious mean streak in her. She said yes, knowing I would get nervous and go out to buy a chocolate bar the afternoon before the prom. Then she could laugh at me in the middle of the gym floor, pointing at the bulbous pimple on the tip of my nose, embarrassing me into running out of the building and into a busy street. Run over by a rusty car which would pop my zit all over my rented tuxedo.
Despite all my fears I drove to her house, got out, straightened my tuxedo and went to the door to knock. Mary Lou Finklebean opened the door and smiled her glorious smile and crinkled her adorable button nose.
Which had a zit on the tip of it.
I didn’t know whether to fall in love or run away.