Can I Take Your Daughter to the Prom?

I approached the heavy set door which was laced with the kiss of winter.  I have seen the door before, but from a distance that I deemed safe so as not to be seen by the guardian of the castle that lay behind it. But, this time is different. I was actaully approaching it this time.

Of course,  it was not especially frighting. I usually can approach doors and holler a fine “How are ya?” to the peachy faces that greeted me. But, this time, my goal was not just to say hello to the patron of the keep but to ask him a grivous question: If I could take his daughter to the prom with me.

That in itself, as I believe, is totally ludicrous. But the girl that I had set my dream boat on is shaking up her waves and will only cease such a torment if I ask that question. She has said yes, but according to the laws of bloody Knighthood and the Honor of bloody England, I have to ask the King of the bloody Castle if I may take his bloody daughter to the bloody prom.

I asked her a question during her obstinate state: “Is this all really needed Terry?”

“Of course! I mean, daddy would respect you much more if you asked…and not to mention, he’d feel a whole lot more better about my safety.”

So this is all a question of safety? What am I going to do? Rape and tear this girl apart like a pack of sexually deprived jaguars?

“You’re safety?” I asked incredulously. “What can I possible do to hurt you?”

“Not ask my dad if it’s okay to take me to prom for starters,” she retorted with the sharpness of a super charged lionness.

And that was the end of that.

Sometimes I wished I would have froze to death out there... (photo credit: Swedish National Heritage Board/Flickr: The Commons)

Now, I stand at the door of the Keep. My nose feels like its about to break off and my fingers are now forming slightly icy patterns in the cracks of my palms.

I looked down below my feet to see the quaint door mat. It read, “No place like home.”

I’ll say!

Anyway, I adjusted my tie a bit, took a couple seconds to compose myself and I began to knock on the door when it, all of a sudden, flung open.

There he stood. Tall, pale, and slightly balding Mr. Howard. He sported a sports coat, a cheery green tie, and a visage that appeared to be curious and doubtful all of the same time. Which ever the two, it look to me like this man needed to pass a kidney stone.

It took me about two minutes to act for I spent it all studying him in morbid fear.

“Eh-hem? Son, are you coming in or are you going to freeze to death outside?” he asked with a tone that could have “froze me to death” in an instant.

“Oh, uh, right!” I shot my hand out to shake his. He grasped it with lightning speed and then proceeded to crush my hand in his, making me oink sightly.

When he let go of his grip, he said, “Come in…hot shot.” So I did.

The house was spotless. The furnature was all red oak, the floors where hardwood red oak, and the ceiling, by Gorge, red bloody oak! This family had everything!

Then we proceeded to the red oak dinner table to sit. Apparently, they had all been waiting on me since I spent well over an hour standing on the front step.

Mrs. Howard was there to meet me.

“Hi Andrew! How are you son?”

“Good Mrs. Howard, thank you. And yourself?”

And then on out we keep on with the small talk whilst Terry came in and out of the Kitchen–she was making dinner tonight for some obscure reason.

We eventually sat door for dinner which was dimly lit and sort of reminded me of the scene in horror movies when the people think its safe to leave and then, bam, eaten alive. Chills up my spain…

Terry served us our meatloaf and salad, which was, by the way, insanely delicious. So, instead of looking the Keeper in the eyes, who gazed at me from across the red oak table, I enjoyed my food. I stuffed my mouth to the point where it was noticable visable that I had stuffed my mouth. (does that make sense? I hope it did).

“So, how long have you been interested in Terry, Andrew?” Mrs. Howard, who is my hero of the night, asked.

I shallowed hard and began to choke on a piece. I grabbed the water glass I glupped it down. I was coughing like an old hag which did not envoke any sort of sympathy nor concern in my dinner partners.

After my near death experience of the day, I answered with a raspy voice, “About two years…but we have only been dating for 4 months.”

“How grand! Richard, don’t you think so?”

He said nothing. He stared at me, stabbed his plate, and shoved a mouth full of loaf into his mouth. He did all this  while simutanulously created a feeling of nauesa in my stomach and causing me to fart. It was one of those quiet but deadly kind of things.

“Yes…indeed…” he finally uttered.

Then his nose wrinkled and he looked at me with the gaze that could of made Medusa weep.

I then proceeded, “My oh my this food is great!” I said in haste. “What is it?”

Terry looked surprised and said, “Meatloaf, Andrew”

“Really? That’s nice.”

Then after a couple more mouthfuls of loaf, I then proceeded to create a moutain of cesar salad on my plate which I then embarked on a mission to climb. I was half through my quest when Mr. Howard offered a new term of subject.

“So, Andrew, if that is your true name, how long have you been a homosexual?”

In a word, I was shoked. In fact, the entire table shook with the force of the question.

“RICHARD!” Mrs. Howard yelled in enbarrassment.

“I want to know dammit! Are you gay or not?”

What part of Terry and me going out doesn’t he understand?

“Uh, no sir. Not a bit….”

“Is that so?” he asked with an undertone of doubt. “I hope you’re right.”

Terry blanked out. That was her special move in life.

Mr. Howard then asked me, “Do you plan to rape, murder, abudut, strangle, molest, stab, or burn my daughter in any way shape or form?”

“Um, no, sir.”

“Good.” He stabbed the entire meatloaf with his fork, slammed it down on his plate and grabbed a knife. He then proceeded to chopping the loaf with insane masculine force that even Hercules could have died from.

“If you do, this will be your penis. Understood?”

“Uhh?”

“Good! We are clear. You are authorized to take my daughter to prom.”

Really? that was it?

He turned to Terry. “He is a handsome lad and you best be looking out for him. I can tell he is intelligent and I approve.”

Me: “Uhhhh?”

Terry: “Heheheh”

Mrs. Howard: “Oh Richard.”

Did I just get premission? I think I did

I then reached over the red oak table and grabbed Terry’s hand which prompted the Keeper to  snatch it and snap my wrist in half.

On my way to the emergency room, he told me that he “still approves, but if you ever try to assault my daughter again, I will kill your  family in front of you.”

So I will be taking his daughter and my cast to the prom. It could be worse.  Right?

Note to the reader: Although this is how I would imagine my prom fiasco to transpire, this is sole work of my own creativity. But, for the readers understanding, I might add that I am obligated to ask my prom date’s father in reality. Hopefully, my arm remains intact and my sexuality is not questioned in the process.