The Date

There we were, both of dressed to the nines. As K12 principal , getting out with my wife was a big deal. She looked great and I was mighty fine myself.
The event, sponsoring an eight grade dance, not exactly a romantic venue, but you take what you can get. We danced and danced, chaperoned a little bit too.
Upon leaving, my wife pointed out a boy sitting on the grass outside the dance.
“You OK?”, I asked approaching the lad.
A friend of his answered, “ He’s drunk, been drinking out of a bottle of Everclear”. Swaying, trying to maintain his sitting position, this was one drunk 8th grader.
He lived up at the lake about 15 miles away, I called his parents and since we were already dressed, we would take him home.
We got him settled in the back seat and headed up to the lake. I really didn’t think this through, a drunk in the back seat and a wiggley road ahead.
With the radio on and my wife and I doing a good thing, What could go wrong?
Then it happened. From his launching point in the back seat, he splattered the windshield to the point that my first inclination was to turn on the windshield wipers.
“It’s on the inside!”, my wife pointed out to the flailing of the wipers.
The vomit had blasted the back of my suit coat, but the main damage was the coating of my wife’s beauty shop hairdo.
I rolled down the windows and turned on the car air fan, it oozed back what it just taken in.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, “ he cried with his head down, it leaning on the front seat. He then proceeded to unload another volley onto the back seat floor.
When we arrived, the parents were so embarrassed. They and their older children sent us to the showers as they attacked the car with cleaning stuff.
On the way home, we are wearing someone else’s clothes, in a car that had a myriad of different smells, and thinking that this may not have been our very best date.

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