A Gruesome Evening (Continued from page 7) He couldn't see very well, so in the process of getting to our seats he sat on a woman's lap. Well, we finally got settled and the show didn't pass too badly except that he chomped so loudly I could hardly hear the dialogue and once he got so excited he spilled popcorn in the lap of the person sitting next to him. Without a word of apology, he scooped it up and put it back in the bag. After the show he asked me if I would like something to eat. I told him I did feel a little hungry, and so we finally ended up at the Mug. He ordered a beer and told me to hurry up and make up my mind as he was in training and he had to get home. Evidently he knew the waitress quite well because he flirted with her and they told shady jokes to each other. When our order came my date spilled catsup in my lap and the cherry coke was dribbled down my neck. By the time he took me to the door I felt as if I had had a Lost Weekend. I finally told him goodnight (with the screen door between us) and hurried into the house. Believe me, that was my first and last blind date! Since then I've heard a date with its eyes shut does turn out. . . occasionally. FACE THAT STOPPED 1000 CLOCKS By ART LARSON This was last year, when I was a senior in high school. I had never been out on a date before. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I was rather shy with the girls. Even the thought of asking a girl for a date gave me chills and if one had asked me, I would most likely have dropped dead. One day I was walking out of the chemistry laboratory, minding my own business, and the plainest girl I have ever seen stopped me and asked if I would go to the girls' dance with her. I got a weak feeling in my stomach and a lump in my throat. I didn't want to go with her but I couldn't think of a polite way to decline. My dizzy head was searching for a good excuse not to go, but even if I had come up with one, my tongue was tied in such a knot I couldn't even have croaked "no." Finally I gave up, wiped my sweating palms on my trousers and consented to take her. Don't ask me what I said. I can't remember. All the rest of the day I couldn't keep my mind on my work. I kept thinking of how everyone would make fun of my "girl friend." Boy, what a homely pan! She might have been the original model for a gargoyle. I thought also of myself, never having been on a date before, committing all sorts of uncouth acts. What should I talk about? Supposing I stepped all over her when we danced? What if I acted like a goon? All knowledge of the little niceties of deportment and etiquette that I had down pat for such an eventuality deserted me and my mind was filled with gloom. Going home didn't help matters any. That night, while I was getting ready for the occasion, my family really poured it on. My younger sister, who was very popular with the boys, said witheringly, "If she'll go out with you she'll go out with anyone." My grandmother, who would like me to spend my entire life uninterested in girls, asked such questions as, "Who is she? Where are you going?" and admonished, "Mind now, I want you home early." My little cousin kept repeating with monotonous regularity, "Art's got a girl . . . Art's got a gir-r-r-u-l," and asking "Is she cute?" Cute? Oh, brother! I was at last ready to go and was I ever glad to escape! I took the bus because I didn't dare ask for the car. When I reached my date's house I found that I was afraid to go get her. I thought, "What if she asks me to come in and meet her mother and father? I may have to stay in there and wait for her to get ready." I prayed for a catastrophe to overtake me . . . lightning to strike me dead or the earth to open up and swallow me . . . but nothing happened. My implse was to turn around and run just as fast as I could go, but my shaking legs wouldn't carry me. When I did manage to pull myself together enough to go and knock on the door, I really felt weak all over. She came to the door and asked me to come in. I did. She introduced me to her mother and father. They seemed very nice; not the least bit critical. They were downright friendly, in fact. I began to think that they weren't nearly as bad as I had imagined. Well, to make a long story short, we went to the dance, and I am happy to report I had a'very good time. My date was such a nice, friendly, well-mannered girl, and we hit it off so well together that before we went home, believe it or not, she looked better to me than any other girl on the dance floor. Now philospohy isn't even one of my short suits, but this experience set me to thinking that looks mean very little when it comes right down to it. Looks only help make a first impression, but it takes character and personality to sustain that impression. At first I had thought that she was the ugliest girl I had ever seen. Maybe she thought I was a "gook" too, but she didn't say so. We had so much fun together that before the night was over . . . well, I wouldn't have mistaken her for Hedy LaMar, but she did look prettier to me than any girl there. The more I think about it, the more I believe that "Looks are only skin deep" and that some of these girls who think they rate as super charges are really dim bulbs when it comes to helping a fellow have a good time. "WOULD YOU REPEAT THAT NUMBER AGAIN?" Page 24