Why, Oh Why, Wydown Fortnightly??????????????? by Peter

It was night so terrifying that you won’t be able to read this story.  But you will have to try.  I was in my family room chilling with my friends Adam  and  Jordan.  I went to elementary school with these guys and I liked nothing better than hanging out with them on a Friday night.  Did I mention that Jordan didn’t even live in St. Louis at that time?  His family had to move to New York after 4th grade. On that fateful Friday night, he had flown to town to spend the weekend with me. So there I was, all set to go. Ready to have fun playing Wii, eating pizza and catching up with my friend who I hadn’t seen for a long time. Little did I know, this was about to become one of the most disastrous nights of my brief life.

My Mom walks into the room and tells me something that no one should EVER have to hear.  She announces, “Billy, I have signed you up for Wydown Fortnightly and tonight is the first dance.”  And then my world came crashing down when she told me to go upstairs and get on a suit and tie.  I wailed, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”  But she stood her ground and I knew that she meant business.  There have been lots of times I knew that I could get out of things but this wasn’t one of those times.

I stomped up the stairs and was incredibly grumpy.  There, laid out on my parents’ bed were the snazzy clothes that I had to put on.  The “torture” outfit included: button down shirt, suit coat, khaki pants, tie-up leather shoes and a bow tie. One by one, I put everything on.  And I was grouchy about it all.  I wanted to make sure that my Mom knew that I was not happy about any of it. She wasn’t budging though.  Downstairs we went.  After the multiple failed attempts to tie the tie correctly, she finally did it correctly.  She had to watch YouTube videos many times before she got the hang of it.  My sadistic mother couldn’t stop when I got dressed, she had to keep up the torture by putting product in my hair.

Adam and Jordan were in the family room  doing what I wanted to do.  They happily got to continue with their plans.  But as true as friends would do, they encouraged me that everything was going to be OK.  Easy for them to say.  I had to go to a dance with a bunch of people who I didn’t know and they got to stay at my house while I was headed to my worst nightmare.

I reluctantly got in the car and we headed toward the dance.  The ride only took about ten minutes but I used every minute to try to figure a way to get out of going.  I kept begging not to go.  My Mom just kept driving.  I hoped for red lights or a giant tornado to destroy the place where the dance was going to be.  Apparently God wasn’t listening because we arrived safe and sound.

I went inside the church.  There was a hallway leading to a gathering area where kids from different schools had come together.  Apparently, their parents hated them, too. The director called boys and girls to lineup  on either side of the room and each person had to choose a partner. He told us how the first dance was going to happen.  I did what he told me to do. I did well but my partner struggled. After the first round of dancing was over, he taught us another dance variation.  Throughout the night, I felt proud of how I did.

Despite my negative thoughts about the evening, I had an OK time. I survived Wydown Fortnightly. They even had cookies and water. How can you not like cookies and water? I did something that I thought that I was going to hate. I pleased my mother. Thankfully after the dance, I got to go back to my house where good buddies were and enjoy their company.. Maybe, maybe, maybe someday I will look back and be glad that I did it……(I highly doubt it, though).


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s