The Anti-Date: Miracle Michael Reinvents the Notion of Post-modern Courtship

“Now remember Sean, I haven’t been on a date in a very long time. So…

“How long?”

“What does that matter dammit! Forever. Like The Sandlot fooor-eee-verrr. Happy? Ok, ahem, now! Listen, I’m a bit out of practice at all this so just make sure to make me look really good. You know, talk about how I work out, my modeling experience, how I should be published. The usual stuff. You know what to do.”

“I know.”

"You know. Yeah!" (I go for hi-five but he's not looking... I lower my hand quickly and play it cool-real cool)

My girlfriend walks up, looking particularly beautiful in the frosted moonlight. She has obviously spent a good deal of time getting ready, and it absolutely shows. My body feels electric and I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. This is the best night of my life, the night we will tell our grand children about one day.

She walks right up to me and smiles. I look to the ground and shove me hands deeper into my pockets and manage to shrug, softly say, “Uh… hey.” We share a nervous laugh.

Inside the theatre I realize I’ve failed to bring enough money to buy not only her ticket, but mine as well. Sean, it seems, is also short on funds. I throw my hands into the air majestically and ask if she can cover me, Sean, and herself. I explain my last name is not Rockefeller, and smile mischievously, as though this explains everything.

We find our seats and the movie starts. I spend the majority of the two hours thinking of pseudo-clever things to say, trying my best to appear witty. This is achieved by testing out my jokes on Sean first, who sits to my left, and if the joke gets a good reaction I whisper it to her, on my right.

We’re watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose which is generally about this college student named Emily Rose who undergoes an exorcism. Emily freaks out, demons all crazy up inside her, eats spiders like candy, convulses, and is generally bitchy and unpleasant to be around. The witty banter hits a high point when I lean over to and whisper to my girlfriend, “She’s probably just worried about mid-terms.”

She laughs, possibly just to be nice, more probably out of pity.

Inevitably I run out of things to say within fifteen minutes, my jokes having dried up like an old sponge. As a last resort I flip my collar up, slide down low in my chair, and start making Count Dracula faces at her. I ask her if I “generally look great tonight” and she nods, possibly to be nice, probably just to get me to shut up.

The movie ends. I try to hold her hand but start hyperventilating at the mere thought. Instead I just act aloof and apathetic, trying to do James Dean impressions. I’m wishing Sean would remember to talk about my modeling experience, how I should write a book something, anything, but he’s busy opening the door for her. Angry, I try to go my separate way out the other door and attempt to slam it open since I’m upset. The door is locked. It doesn’t budge. I pretty much just crash into the door.

Outside I mutter goodbye and am acting like an injured show horse. She starts walking the other direction until Sean offers her a ride home. I thought she had a car, but no! So now it looks like I was going to make her walk home. I cross my arms and fight back tears. This always happens. This always happens to me.

We get to her dorm and I make a big production out of seeing her off, stepping out of the car and giving her a sweet action side hug. She is almost literally running away at this point.

I jump back into the car, the tears pouring down my face at this point. Sean rolls down his window and cries out to her, to me, to our entire generation even, “Facebook me!”

And with that we slip away into a brand new night with the same old stars. I have never been happier.