Wayside Adventures

“Almost there” she thought as she yanked the skirt over her butt - only to have it gape at the waist. Oh well. Throw a long shirt on and no one would know about the 3 inch draft she would feel all night. She took a few steps toward her dresser and sighed. As her inner thighs kissed each other with every move, she remembered why she liked pants. But the skirt was cute and she was going out to the bar, more importantly she was going out to the bar with her skinny roommates, who would no doubt look great in their halters, leaving enough of a gap to show their flat stomachs and belly button rings. There would be no mid-drift for this girl, more like a mid-canyon. Even if she did have her naval pierced it wouldn't be on display like her slender roommates‘, but buried in the depths of the canyon.

She was so bored of going out dressed in the cutest chubby girl outfits she could find; she would deal with sticky legs. Maybe she could walk a little wider (if that was possible), allow a little more room for her ample thighs to breathe. She took a few steps in planned fashion watching herself in the mirror. Bad idea. It was hard enough to entice a guy to dance with a chubby girl.. Adding “bow legged” to the mix would not help the chances. Sticky, raw thighs it would be. Not like anyone was going to see them anyway.

After the girls were all primped and ready - it was time to drink. There was a strategy to the amount and timing, of course. They didn’t want to drink too soon or there would be a chance they would lose their buzz by the time they arrived at the bar, but not too much that they were in a drunken stupor all the way there.

One final task before they left, putting on the hooker boots. Easy enough, right?! Maybe for those whose legs weren’t an inch thicker around than the boot itself could stretch. She let out a sigh and decided it was a man who designed the hooker boots and obviously designed them with a chicken leg having skinny girl in mind. But thankfully he took some pity on the thick legged, evident by the two stretchy patches that lay on either side of the boot. OK, her foot was in and the zipper zipped to the bottom of the calf (the easy part). Time for reinforcements - as she held the top of the boot as close together as possible, her roommate slowly closed the gap, making every effort to do so without catching any of her leg fat in it.

The group let out a collective groan as they approached the bar and saw the hellishly long line. It wasn’t that they didn’t expect it, but when you just slammed 6 beers and who knows what else and have been doing the inevitable “I have to pee” dance for the entire 20 minute walk, you still hope for a miracle. After what seemed like an eternity, they walked through the door, paid their $5.00 and made a beeline for the bathroom. After one glance at the sink she decided to forgo washing her hands. Something about a sink filled with beer bottles and throw up did not scream “sanitary” to her. She’d settle for pee hands.

As they made their way to the dance floor, she was caught off guard when a tanned (clearly a fake baker), frat boy glared at her. She was about to go off about him being prejudice against “chubby girls” and that she had every right to be there as the hoochies, when she saw the girls giggling. OH CRAP, the butt slap game had started and she had completely missed it. Mostly she was thrown off because they rarely aim for the tan meatheads - not as fun to get the douche bags that already think so highly of themselves, much more fun to target those less likely to get a date. You know, the one who is so busy doing the pee wee herman he doesn’t realize the people he was dancing with have all dispersed and are now facing other directions and refuse to make eye contact. So - you zero in on a target, make sure one of your friends is nearby to look like the guilty party and then smack their ass.

As they started to move towards the dance floor a guy spins her way- looked her dead in the eye and smiled. “Shit”, she muttered under her breath, those bitches got her again. They began to dance. “Oh well”, she thought, “chubby girls can’t be choosers, right?!” Especially when a majority (we’re talking upwards of 80%) of the female patrons are half-dressed hoochies who had no problem getting their hooker boots up. In fact, they probably had to use a pin to keep them up. Bitches.

So Tom introduces himself and she nods, completely uninterested. Tom had a tongue ring, which she found mildly intriguing and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss a guy with a tongue ring. (She soon found out it was boring, well no different than kissing someone sans a manmade hole filled with metal, at least). As the music slowed down she tried to escape, but he pulled her closer for a slow dance. As soon as the song ended, she pulled away, but not fast enough to avoid exchanging numbers. (Damn sticky legs.) Joy. Then it was off to find which one of those bitches grabbed Tom’s ass in the first place.

A few days later Tom called. Per her request her roommates asked if they could take a message and promised she’d call back soon. It’s what any sane girl would do before talking to some guy she met at the bar 3 days ago and remembers nothing about it, except his spiky hair and tongue ring. She needed prep time, a roommate huddle. “He didn’t seem that bad“, she heard from one direction (oh, that’s promising - neither did Ted Bundy). “We’re all going to be here, we’ll rescue you if you need us to.” And with that - they formed their plan. She called Tom back and he asked if she wanted to watch a movie. She covered the phone and mouthed “wants to watch a movie” to her rommies - five heads bobbed up and down, accompanied by five sets of hands pointing to the floor. If bar-boy wanted to watch a movie, it would be in her apartment, surrounded by her friends.

When the doorbell rang a few hours later, she opened the door full of hesitation and fear. “All be damned”, she thought to herself, apparently it wasn't the lighting from the bar casting the blue tint in his hair. it was the dye that he had purposely applied. WHY HER? To be clear - it wasn't specifically the blue hair, she had once wanted to dye her hair blue and it wasn't the 8,000 piercings, she did have an eyebrow ring that she loved, and it wasn't even the fact that he was hardly 5 foot tall…but wrap all those things together and you get one freakishly weird bundle. And lucky her, he was standing in her entry way. Finally, she peeled her eyes away from his hair, only to land on his back pack. What the? I asked him to bring “a” movie - not contents for a freakin’ sleepover. Yup, he brought an entire back pack filled with movies and who else knows what. She shuddered to think what his backpack of movies contained.

She invited him to sit down and then mentioned, in passing, that she had a headache. And with that, the plan sprang into action. All of the sudden her roommate burst into the living room with the phone and with just enough worry in her voice said, “hey, I was on the other line and your sister called - she sounds really upset.” She grabbed the phone and walked into the other room, making sure she was close enough for Tom to hear the conversation. “Hey. Okay. No! Okay. No, you’re not interrupting anything.” And then she promised to no one other than the air between herself and the phone that she would call her right back. She returned to the room and apologized profusely to Tom, but explained her sister really needed her. He looked at her - clearly not getting the hint or reacting at all to the fact that she was telling him to go home! She actually started to wonder if she picked up more than she realized in her high school French I and II classes and was suddenly fluent. Pig Latin, perhaps? She took a breath, reassuring herself it was English and began to picture having to physically remove Spike from the property.

Finally, after much coaxing and cringing but surviving through 100 “I really don’t want to go’s“, Tom left. She breathed a sigh of relief and instead of making the phantom return phone call, she walked upstairs to her bedroom, hurled herself on the bed and said, to no one in particular, “Why is it that the guy you could care less about ever seeing again calls, but the man of your dreams automatically loses your number. SO NOT FAIR.”