PUNK PROSE: Best Damn Girl in the World By Stacia Laroche

     Best Damn Girl In The World

The engine of my Harley Davidson roared through the streets of the secluded neighborhood as I moseyed on over to my second date of the week's house. I was 45 minutes late. My armpits were sweaty and I could feel my button down sticking to my skin. Curse the summer weather that we all say we adore, but can't stand by its end. My entire get up for the evening was sabotaged by mud puddle water that a garbage truck assaulted me with when I was picking up flowers at the shop. They were utterly destroyed. They were dead before, but even more dead after the tsunami hit. Perfect. Every girl loves it when her sweaty dirty date says “These are for you” and hands her a bouquet of death. That really screams “I want to get to know you” on a personal level. 

When I pulled up to her mansion, there she stood on the front steps waiting for me. Looking like a prize in her sundress smiling at me. Every girl smiled at me before I got to the starting line of the date where I flirt horribly or have the audacity to tell a bad joke that didn’t need to be put out into the universe. That’s when the million dollar smile fades and I become a poor girl standing alone at the finish line. 

Before I even took my helmet off, my date was already at my side giving me heart eyes like I was some teenage heart throb from the Disney Channel. I was freaked out to say the least. I know I looked like that Pig Pen kid who Charlie Brown hangs out with. 

“Are those for me?” My date asked excitedly, referring to the bouquet of death. 

“They are. I hate to say it, but I picked them out myself.” 

“That’s so sweet! Nobody’s ever brought me flowers on a date!” She exclaimed. 

That explained it. She didn’t know what good quality flowers actually looked like. She had no standards. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to put these in some water and then we can head out.” 

 I was stunned that she actually wanted to “head out,” with me. I thought I was having auditory hallucinations. I had to be hearing things. I prayed that I wasn't. I was too young to lose it. Especially when I barely had anything. 

“I’m sorry, you want to go on a date with me looking like this? I don’t even think I’d pass McDonald’s dress code if they had one. Grimace would kick me right out of The Golden Arches even if I promised I’d buy his special milkshake.” 

Ah my first bad joke of the evening. I nearly jumped when she erupted into a fit of flirtatious giggles. I was hearing real laughter. Not that fake laugh track laughter that I usually get from the unfortunate girl sitting across the table from me. Usually after the bad joke is released our once joined hands part ways for the evening and do not reunite again. 

“Of course, I do. I’ve been looking forward to this all week! I’ll be back in a minute.” 

I watched her go back into the house. I figured that line was her get out of jail card. Girls like me don’t get the girls they dream about holding hands with. 

Two minutes later I was proven wrong when she raced out the door and got on the back of my motorcycle as if she’d been riding with me for years. 

I turned around and looked at her.

“You’re either crazy or the best damn girl in the world.” 

Turns out she was the best damn girl in the world. She’s still riding on the back of my motorcycle to this day. 

--Stacia Laroche