Sad story time. Get your tissues ready for deployment.
So, Saturday nights are date night in the DownToBuck household. It’s not my idea, but my girl thinks its fun, so whatever. She’s pretty hot and I want to keep her around. Last night she said she wanted to see the ballet. Swan Lake or something, I don’t even know.
In my head, I’m like, “DownToBuck don’t go to no ballet,” but as I said, my current girl is downright smokin’ so I grant her concessions that I might not grant a less-attractive girl. So in reality I said, “That sounds fantastic honey! Swan Lake is a perfect example of Tchaikovsky’s intricate weaving of Russian folklore and the era’s romantic sensibilities!”
(If you make fun of my prissy way of talking, I swear I will track your IP address and delete your youtube account. As I said, all of this is for the girl. DownToBuck rolls hard on the streets.)
The rule is, she gets to choose the event, I get to choose the restaurant. This is the best part. I was getting a little tired of Outback so we went to the Red Lobster on the other side of town. The first thing I do when the waitress shows up is I say, “DownToBuck is going to need three or four baskets of those cheesy biscuits,” because those things are the bomb. Lots of the time I don’t even order an entree, I just eat those biscuits. They’re free so why not? More money saved = more pimp for my ride. Dig?
My girlfriend ordered some sissy little salad. Usually that would prompt a snarky comment from yours truly, but remember how hot she is? So all I said was, “That salad looks delicious honey.” You can tell I’m bending all over the place to please her, which just makes the later occurrences even more unfair.
Then we get to the theater and there’s all these old people dressed up all fancy. I didn’t even know you were supposed to dress up for the ballet. I thought my GF was wearing that pretty dress for my enjoyment. So I’m walking around in my jeans and my vintage Sikma jersey, feeling a little out of place, and all the olds are giving me weird looks. Luckily, the theater itself was dark, so if I slumped down in my seat I could pretend I was wearing a suit jacket or something.
I wasn’t really paying close attention to the ballet, because Tchaikovsky can suck it. Since I was already slumped pretty low, it seemed safe to check the box-scores on my phone. Nobody could see me. I even kind of pointed the screen towards the inside of my leg so that the glow wouldn’t bother anybody. Nobody ever said DownToBuck wasn’t a considerate, classy gentleman.
Then the Nets-Clippers box came up.
“Yo, babe, we gotta cut this date short, Mason Plumlee just dropped 17.” I meant to whisper it, because everybody was being real quiet, but I accidentally sorta shouted it. I can’t help it, I get excited when some scrub goes off.
All the wrinkly old people around me are like “Shhhhh!” but it was like my babe didn’t even hear me. She was staring at the stage really hard. So I showed her the box-score. “He must be really tired of his brother getting all the spotlight. I bet he made Mullens into his bitch. Look, they’ve even got a clip of him dunking it.”
I didn’t bother to lower my voice because it’s not like the actors or dancers or whatever were saying anything. There was just some orchestra playing in the background. While I’m looking the other way, some usher grabs my shoulders and starts dragging me out of the aisle. Now, DownToBuck is no weakling, but this guy was huge and angry-lookin’ so I just let him do it. I tried to grab my GF’s arm to take her with me but she shook off my grip. Somehow in the commotion I dropped my phone, which sucks, but I was looking for an excuse to get the new iPhone, so this is it.
I still had the car keys so I just drove back to our place. I was expecting my GF to show up at some point so we could maybe have some fun (that’s how date nights are supposed to end usually), but she never showed.
I checked my Facebook this morning and for some reason I’m listed as single again. WTF? All I wanted was to make Mason Plumlee highlights. It’s not like I cheated on her or anything. Since I guess I’m single again, I took all of her clothes and dumped them in the hallway outside our apartment. She can pick them up when she wants. I would let her know on FB but she blocked me. Typical woman. Too bad, she was really hot.
Anyway, that’s my sad story. I’m actually not too bummed about it. As DownToBuck always says, more women = more problems; more basketball = less problems. Words of wisdom my friends. DownToBuck out.