A first date is always an "experience" to say the least. Mine was no different. I was 15 years old and had finally gotten up the nerve to ask out Kathy, the girl with ponytails who sat next to me in earth science.
The plan was I would pick her up, or rather me and my mom would pick her up, at her house at 6, we would go to dinnner at Red Robin, walk over to AMC to catch a movie, and I would end the perfect night with a kiss. It seemed simple enough.
Just as I carefully and nervously rang the doorbell, I noticed my fly was undone. I raced to zip it up but just as I began, her father opened the door and saw his daughter's date with his hand on his crotch. Kathy shortly after, appeared at the door which left me half relieved that she was saving me from her father's judgemental eyes and half frightened to death over what she would think of the 2008 comic book convention t-shirt which I was increasingly regretting wearing.
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