As every young man knows, this is a premium opportunity to meet the ladies. Looking as awesome as awesomeness would permit, Richie and I began to scope out the prospects, a well known ritual in the life of a 15 year old boy. In a single glorious moment, the crowd parted ever so slightly to attract my attention to the farthest end of the parking lot. Where a beam of light came from an unknown source to illuminate an angelic figure that had never come across my field of vision before. Within a matter of mili-seconds, the crowd closed and while desperately trying to maintain line of vision, I announced to Richie, " I found mine."
As quickly as I could, I attempted to make my way around the dance floor. The personage would come in and out of sight until by some miracle we met half way in between. No words were necessary as our eyes were locked in the telepathy of our love. After I memorized every lock of her curly red hair and captured her scent with as much precision as my nose could muster, I took her by the hand and we danced. Not once, not twice, but three times we did dance that night.
Our third dance was the last song of the night. I scrambled to find a pen and paper and asked, "Number?" She replied, "Ya sure, hold on a sec." Then backed away from me and performed several back hand springs in a row. This was the first time I realized she was wearing blue camo pants. As she returned I said, "Never mind the number, I will just follow you home." She replied, "Sorry I am grounded, so here is my number and email, don't call me for three months."
The rest of the story is basically about me looking down every street, behind every picture, and under every car trying to find that flippin red headed angel in camo pants.