 | You may now touch this! |
Dear Mandy,
I know it's been a long time since we've spoken, fourteen years to be exact, but I (as well as my therapist) feel that I probably owe you some long overdue explanations for a few of the actions that took place on the magical night we spent together.
Before I begin, I would like to once again thank you for taking a chance on a mid-semester transfer student during the biggest event of the spring; the 1991 Apollo Junior High, Star-Seeker Extravaganza. The sympathy and generosity that you displayed in accepting my three-page, hand written request by checking the 'yes' box has not been forgotten, even though Susan Dobson later told me that you only accepted because you had assumed that I was retarded.
Ok, here it goes, things Im sorry for (chronologically):
6:18 PM - My mom's "awesome" new car that I promised you we could ride in to the dance. To be fair, I thought the 1988 Ford Festiva had a lot of potential, and if my folks had sprung for air conditioning or even a tape deck, this may not have even made the list.
6:32 PM - Getting blood on your new dress. My nose has a tendency to start bleeding when my allergies are acting up or when I get really nervous. It was either the particularly high pollen count or the switch blade your father kept rubbing against his crotch which caused my nostril fountain to unleash it's fury on your new ensemble.
7:05 PM - Not asking you to dance when that Bryan Adams song from Robin Hood was played. It would have been the perfect opportunity, but I thought it was a little too early in the night to blow my load on a slow dance, and also I was still extremely dizzy from the excessive blood loss.
7:08 PM - Asking you to dance when I Wanna Sex You Up, by Color Me Badd was played. I went through five plastic cups of punch during the prior song building up the nerve to ask you. The song choice was in no way a reflection of my intentions. It was, however, quite the provocative selection by our DJ/ gym teacher, Mr. Turmose.
 | This is how I roll. |
7:41 PM - Attempting a dope ass running man into a hand stand during Gonna Make You Sweat, by C & C Music Factory. Had I known that I would have mis-stepped and unintentionally fallen, ramming my head into your ovaries, and almost certainly ruining the chance of you ever bearing children, I would have played it a bit safer.
8:09 PM - Performing what could best be described as a free-form version of the Cabbage Patch during Do Me, by Bell Biv Devoe. Even though you were still being attended to by the school nurse, I could see you leering at me while I was on the dance floor, alone, flailing my arms about like I was either boxing a kangaroo or on fire (or boxing a kangaroo who was on fire), and you looked shamed, even from a distance.
8:22 PM - Calling you a "dirty cum guzzling whore" for dancing with Brian Trevorman. I now see that it was pre-mature of me to have assumed that you had been in the bathroom giving him a hand job when I went to refill your punch glass. I had no idea that you tutored him after his special ed. classes, or that he was blind.
8:47 PM - Trying to feel you up in the back seat of the Festiva on the way home. Admittedly, I underestimated the toll that the nights previous mishaps had taken on our relationship. Also sorry for calling you a cock tease (even though you were).
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Before I go, a couple other things I forgot to apologize for:
- Telling you I was as "Cool as Ice." I really wasnt.
- Telling you that my MC Hammer pants were imported from Italy. They were actually just Zubaz that my Grandma had bought from the sale rack at Marshall's.
- Shaving your name into my head beneath a Nike swoosh logo. I really cant explain this one.
Again, very sorry,
Brandon Gnetz
P.S. Also really sorry about driving by your house four to five times a night wearing a cheer leading outfit that I accidentally took from your gym locker. That was in high school though, and may require it's own letter.
 |
