My Nana always used to say that 'boys are only interested in one thing'. That
one thing, of course, is professional wrestling. But they're ALSO interested
in sex, which is really what I think she was talking about.
But besides the wrestling and the sex, they're also interested in food. So, really, boys are only interested in THREE things.
I've decided I would appeal to that third interest, tonight.
After all, appealing to the second one with my mother walking two steps behind us was a sure-fire way to land myself in a nunnery until the end of time, and I'd rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than watch wrestling.
Thus... seduction by food.
Unfortunately, things didn't exactly go the way I had envisioned them. First, there just aren't a lot of classy restaurants in the Sunnydale Mall. Outside of the food court, there was a Breakfast Cafe, which only served meals until 2:00 in the afternoon, and a Denny's, where you can eat in disgusting filth and dodge drive-by gunfire.
So, neither of those were an option for my woo-ing efforts. And after an exhaustive search for ANYTHING that might serve cuisine that would entice Angel into massaging my tonsils, Mom finally put her foot down and dragged the three of us back to the food court.
Which leads us to where we are right now, which is standing in line at the Chick-Fil-A and watching our lives slowly, painfully slip from our grasp.
Yeah. THIS is really going to be a huge turn on for my would-be boyfriend. Now, I love bite-sized pieces of tender poultry as much as the next person, but Chick-n-Nuggets just don't scream, 'Hey Angel, why don't you bend me over one of these cheap, plastic tables and have your wicked way with me!'
"Have you decided what you're going to order, sweetie?"
Sure, Mother. I think I'm going to get the 'Hot Guy Repelling Chick-n-Strips' with a side order of 'Angel Will Never Kiss Me Now That I've Forced Him to Eat This Garbage, So I'm Going to Stuff this Fat-Laden Cole-Slaw Down My Throat to Make Myself Feel Better'. "No. Not yet, Mom."
"Well, I think I'm going to get the Chicken Caesar Salad," Mom offered cheerfully. "What about you, Angel?"
I have to mention that it's a sad, sad day when someone's first real dinner in America is served to them by some guy wearing a paper hat with a cartoon chicken on it.
"I don't know yet," he answered carefully, while glancing at the menu hanging above the counter. "What's good here?"
"The chicken," Mom said, before laughing softly at her own joke.
Aggh. Shoot me PLEASE.
"Okay," Angel replied slowly. "I suppose I'll have that, then."
While I contemplated crawling under one of the plastic chairs and waiting for the shame to go away, the line moved up so there was only a single woman in front of us.
Of course, to further supplement my mortification, the people who usually order food at Chick-Fil-A are often void of any basic decision-making abilities and this woman was no exception.
"What would you like, ma'am?" the guy at the register asked her politely.
"I'll take a large diet coke," she replied.
The man totaled it into the register. "That'll be $1.69."
She suddenly looked panicked. "Wait! I would like a chicken sandwich. No pickles, please-- wait. Yes, pickles."
He looked at her strangely, but entered the order in. "Okay, that'll be--"
"Hold on. I want some nuggets, too. And... cheese on the sandwich. No pickles!"
"No pickles, or yes pickles?"
"No pickles."
He rolled his eyes subtly, while the rest of the line looked on in sympathy. "Alright, that will be--"
"And fries! Oh God! I need fries, too!"
"Will that be all?" Register Guy asked patiently.
"Yes... no! I don't know! Wait-- I want pickles!"
I glanced at Angel who was watching the scene with rapt fascination. His mouth was turned down slightly, as if he were witnessing a gruesome car wreck.
I sighed and stared at the floor tile.
How ROMANTIC this evening is turning out to be! In fact, I think I feel a tear coming to my eye...
Oh wait! No, that's
just some grease that splattered from the giant deep-fryer. My mistake...
"Angel? Are you asleep?"
I stared out into the blackness of my room and tried to focus on the obscure shape at the foot of my bed. It moved slightly and I heard a faint, "Hmm?"
"Are you asleep?"
"What?"
"Are you sleeping?"
The shape moved again, and Angel propped himself up on his elbows, moving his face into the shaft of moonlight that poured through my window. He gave me a questioning look and I blushed.
"Okay, I guess that's a stupid question," I mumbled.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah. I was just wondering if you were still awake."
"I'm awake now," he said softly, trying to keep his voice down. "Do you want something?"
Some hot lovin' would be nice.
"Um, no," I replied, "What are you doing?"
I winced as soon as the question was out of my mouth. What did I THINK he was doing? Playing water polo? God, I'm such a spaz.
"Well, I was sleeping, but now I'm talking to you, I guess."
"Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"It's okay. Did you want to talk?"
Absolutely. Especially if by 'talking', you mean 'licking and occasionally making mewling noises'.
"Do you mind?"
"No. I'm already up, anyway," he answered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "What do you want to talk about?"
Think of something witty! Think of something WITTY!
"Uh-- what are your thoughts on... um... kittens?"
... augh. Why do I even try?
Angel scratched his chin, and looked at me as if I had grown another head. "Well, I'm for them, I think. I'm certainly not... anti-kitten or anything."
"Oh, good," I muttered through my sheet, which I had pulled up over the bottom half of my face to cover my embarrassment. I needed a new topic, and fast. "What's your family like?"
He paused, and I tugged the sheet down a little to look at him.
"I'm assuming your parents are divorced?" he asked.
"Yeah. They split up about a year and a half ago."
He nodded. "Mine are divorced, too. My father... just kind of left. He wasn't the greatest person, so I'm not too upset about it," he remarked tonelessly. I sat up a little to listen better. "My mum, though... she's amazing. Very warm, very forgiving. And she has always been patient with me."
"She sounds wonderful," I murmured.
"She is," he agreed, and the edge of his mouth curled up in a smile. "She really is."
"Any brothers or sisters?"
"Yeah, I've got a younger sister. Her name is Kathy. She'll be fifteen this May."
"Sometimes I wish I had a brother or a sister," I remarked. "But usually I'm pretty happy being the uber-spoiled only child."
"I assume it has its advantages," he agreed. "But I can't imagine my life without Kathy being in it."
I smiled at him. "That's sweet."
"I don't think she would agree with you."
"She doesn't think you're sweet?"
He winced. "I'm a little... overprotective of her. Or so I hear."
"Why? Do you beat up on all of her potential boyfriends?" I teased.
"No. Not-- not all of them," he defended awkwardly. "Just the ones who... aren't good enough for her."
"And which ones are those?"
"The ones with pulses."
I laughed. "So if some walking dead person asked your sister out, you would approve?"
"Well, no. I'm not too keen about the idea of her dating corpses, either."
"So, by your logic, she's not allowed to date anyone who does, or does not, have a pulse?"
"That sounds about right."
"I'm afraid I'd have to take your sister's side on this argument," I smirked.
He smiled and laughed softly. "Most people do."
GOD, he's cute. So very, very cute. Why, I bet he'd even be cute if he were handcuffed naked to my bed. Maybe with some cute whip cream all over his cute chest and cute--
"Are you sure you don't mind going to the dance with me?" he blurted suddenly, interrupting my... weirdness.
"Why? Do you-- do you not want to go with me?" I asked, slightly panicked. "Because we don't have--"
"No," he said forcefully, cutting me off. "That's not it at all. I just don't want you to feel like you have to go with me. If you have someone else you were hoping to take, I'd completely understand."
Oh, you mean all the imaginary boys that asked me to go with them? Let me just check my date book...
"No. I want to go with you."
He looked at me very seriously for a moment before slowly lying back on his pillow. "I'm glad. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't rather take your boyfriend."
"Well, that might be difficult, considering I don't actually HAVE a boyfriend," I confessed.
And did that sound horribly pathetic? I think it did...
"That's surprising," he murmured.
I sat up a little more, but his face was in the shadows again so I couldn't see his expression. "Why is that surprising?"
"It just is."
"Oh, gee. Thanks for clearing that up," I said in mock-sarcasm.
"You're welcome."
"Jerk," I muttered affectionately.
He let out a soft laugh, but didn't say anything. I leaned back against my pillows and stared at the ceiling, listening to the silence.
Unfortunately, I have no patience to speak of, so it didn't last long. "Angel?"
"... Yeah?"
"What about you?" I asked, before biting my lip. "Do you have a girlfriend? Back in Ireland, I mean."
"I go to an all-boys school. There's not a whole lot of dating opportunities outside of cafeteria ladies and the sixty-year-old school nurse."
"Oh. That's too bad."
...
Thank you, SWEET
MERCIFUL GOD!
