22 Dates

            She was 22 when she had her first date, and Sheryl had no idea what to expect. Sure, she had seen all sorts of romantic comedies, but those were fiction, right? No reason to expect someone to dash out of nowhere in a dashing suit and be socially awkward and cute and romantic at the same time in an attempt to gain her love. That only really happened in Hollywood.

            Still, a girl could hope, right?

            She worked tirelessly on her makeup, yet always seemed to find some flaw in what she had done, and had to correct it.  Somehow, all of the clothes in her closet had conspired against her.  If the pieces fit, they made her look hideous. Why did they start doing this all of a sudden? Last week, that blue dress had been gorgeous; she remembered it being specifically being gorgeous. Now, it made her look ridiculous. Who wears that shade of blue now, seriously? And how had she found any shoes to match it? The Converse would not work this time. No. Surely there was something…

            How could it be this hard? She got dressed every day, how was this any different? She ran her fingers through her hair, and her heart fell to the floor when she heard a knock at the door. “Shit! I’m not wearing ANYTHING!” Sheryl thought to herself, and frantically threw on a pair of blue jeans and the first shirt she could find so she could answer the door before he thought he was at the wrong door.

            “Coming!” she yelled as she jogged to the door.  Before she touched the handle, she stopped, smoothed her hair, and took a deep breath. “This is just a first date,” she reminded herself. “Calm down. You’re 22, not some mindless 14 year old without a clue how to handle yourself.”

            She opened the door with her best smile, hoping it wasn’t too much of a smile to make it look creepy or insane. “Hey!”

            And so it began.