Prom Night

I was just having an awesome morning, working on my second bowl of Cheerios, watching Spongebob and thinking about how I just rocked my Marketing final... when I remembered tonight's prom night...and I'm scheduled to work...and I'm alive.



Prom nights at the restaurant are the only instances I find myself actually wishing for a wicked case of pinkeye - a no-questions-asked stay home from work excuse...along with leprosy, anthrax, and losing two or more digits (must include a thumb). Compound the bitterness stemming from having not had the nerve to ask anyone to my own prom with the 9% tips I'll be getting from each of the appetizer and Coke-laden (separately) checked parties of 12, and you've got the recipe for another 8-hour mumbling self-hate session. Please God, either let me have an aneurysm on my way to work tonight or hit Raleigh with a savage lightning storm that takes out every other Hummer limousine on the road. If you even just get one of them I'll stop stealing the quarters out of the Muscular Dystrophy display at the gas station . I mean it this time.

"Hey, girls. Great dresses!! Do you like mine? You don't think it's a little too purple or makes me look like a genie or anything like that do you?"
"Um... Are you riding with us?"