Writing assignment week 4

Unfortunately, the only fiction in this story is the final sentence.

Date Night

I examined my wardrobe closely. After plunging into my dressers and riffling in my closet, I spotted the final item, and snatched it from the rack. I faced the mirror and my chin bobbed once, satisfied. My alter ego, Date Night Girl, eyed me appraisingly. You'll do, she judged, just resist acting stupid.

"Look, I know we don't go out often, but skip the snark," I commanded. "Even better, shut up."

My mother appeared, her head cocked to one side, and stated "You have a collect phone call."

Baffled, I clattered down the steps, and grabbed the telephone. "Hello?"

It was my date. "I can't locate your house."

"Did you lose the directions I gave you?"

"The directions are wrong."

Oh-kay,I thought. I reiterated the directions and one dollar and sixty-one cents later, replaced the receiver.

My date, whom I later christened Nitwit, arrived a few minutes later. After admitting he had driven past my house earlier, we departed for the mall. We were eight seconds into the drive when he pointed at a dilapidated three family house and remarked "That's a crack house." I was astonished: we were still in my neighborhood. Hush, commanded Date Night Girl. He's anxious, that's all.

I lived in the city of Workingclass, while my date resided in neighboring Affluence. Not just Affluence, he assured me, but Affluence bordering on Blueblood- By-The-Sea. My date, assured in the knowledge that I lacked culture,(after all, I lived in Workingclass, the city of ignorant yahoos) expressed his desire to one day attend Symphony. Nitwit radiated excitement, his face illuminated by the rapture of this dream. I innocently contributed to the conversation, revealing that my visit to Boston's Symphony Hall showed the structure's vaulted ceilings and gold leaf trim. I encouraged him to go. His eyes widened, startled by the comment I made. He deflated. A girl from Workingclass had gone and heard the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Don't depress him. Say something! insisted Date Night Girl. I quickly informed him my visit was for a music class, and I only heard a rehearsal. I reiterated this until he regained his normal attitude. In retrospect, this constituted a huge mistake.

Nitwit also planned, someday, to go to The Boston Theater District and attend plays.(I wondered why going to Boston mattered so much. The drive took fifteen minutes, and he owned a car.) I offered that I had traveled there and taken in plays. Suddenly, questions flew out of his mouth. What plays had I seen? Annie, Date Night Girl replied.

"Oh, Annie", Nitwit sneered.

"And Driving Miss Daisy."

"You saw Driving Miss Daisy?"He skirted the edge of a culvert, his attention destroyed by my statement. "But it was a limited run, and nobody could get tickets!"

" My brother excels at snagging tickets to anything. It's a gift. He escorted me, my mother, himself, and his wife to the theater, after dinner. We ate at Rocco's." I hope he doesn't know about Rocco's, Date Night Girl whispered. I agreed. Nitwit's paucity of imagination assured me he'd probably faint if he learned I dined at that particular Theater District restaurant. Rocco's staff included a sommelier.

Nitwit questioned me accusingly about the play. Yes, I knew the storyline. Yes, I told him the names of the performers. I realized he didn't believe me. The movie version had shown in theaters, so I watched him conclude I lied to him.

Few things anger me, but insinuating I was a liar sat at the top of the list. I was irate, irate at his smugness, his superior attitude, his expectation of deceit. How dare he! I had no need to impress him. I willed myself no to strangle Nitwit, but only because he was in control of the car. We hadn't even reached the mall, a ten-minute drive.

Date Night Girl fell silent. Her demands had created this disaster. As we pulled in to the parking space, she essayed a final, hopeless plea. Just finish the date, she cried. With my back turned on Nitwit, I murmured
my response.

"Don't be stupid."

Oh, shut up.

I smiled and sought out a phone booth.