“I’m gonna wear the clothes I shopped yesterday.” Kate mused as she was trying to dry her hair with a damp towel. The cold water streamed through the bathroom floor as she closed the faucet and pull the curtain away.
It’s going to be their first date as an official couple. Several weeks of hanging out, countless number of call minutes, seemingly millions of text messages stored in her inbox, a bouquet of flowers the day he asked her if she can be his girlfriend – all will come to this. A sweet, romantic candlelit dinner. Just the two of them, in an open-air restaurant right beside the bay, under the brightness of March moon.
She can’t help but marvel at how extraordinary this event is for her. Her first boyfriend, her first dinner date! All those days of asking herself if somebody would actually find her attractive has now been answered! She stared at the mirror and studied herself. Brown complexion, black, not-so-straight hair, expressive black eyes. Perfectly ordinary, really. But Brent sees her for who she is. Accepts her for all her inadequacies. Nothing can be more quintessential than this and she can only be thankful.
She grabbed her new pair of red loafers, grabbed her black dress and fixed her hair. Any minute from now, Brent’s car will be sounding his horn, signaling the start of their perfect night. She definitely doesn’t want him to wait, because, she can’t.
And there goes the horn. Kate hurried outside and met her prince. How they immediately locked eyes was just unimaginable.
The drive to the restaurant seemed like eternity for Kate and when she saw the sign that she’s been hoping to see fifteen minutes ago, it felt like a sigh of relief. Before going out of the car, she was even more surprised when Brent handed her a bouquet of white roses from the backseat. White roses! Her favorite. How could he have known? This just gets better and better, she thought.
With hands clasped, the both of them went out of the car, walked a few steps to the table he previously called to reserve.
And then, it rained.
**pardon my amateur writing. this is my first time to write a short story. I figured this would be a good change to the usual articles, features and poetry that I do. Just tryin to see if this too, is for me.
…When all you need is a knife might not be ironic, but it is unfortunate. Add your own verse, stanza, or story of badly-timed annoyance to Alanis Morissette’s classic: