disastrous date
A DISASTROUS DATE
by Gizel E. Vega Oquendo
I remember my first date. Not only because it was my first romantic experience with who I considered during that time "the boy of my dreams", but also because it was one of the most embarrasing experiences of my life. I was 17 years old back then, but I remember it like if it was yesterday. We took a long road trip from Carolina to the Old San Juan. Along the way we were sharing experiences and funny anecdotes, we were telling each other the kind of stories you tell in highschool, about pranks, teachers, odd classmates and issues that only a highschool student can understand.
We arrived to the restaurant and everything in it looked fancy. The sights were all bright because of the illumination of the place; everything was sorrounded with colorful lamps with different shapes, there were autographed pictures of what appeared to be various local celebrities who had visited the restaurant, such as José Feliciano and Ednita Nazario, the tables were decorated with red and yellow roses, Dean Martin's lovable music was comming out of the restaurant's speakers and the smell of garlic frying in olive oil in the air gave me that sensation that only good Italian restaurants can give to a woman with a great taste like myself. As we walked in the host politely saluted us and asked my date if he had a reservation, to which he replied "yes", after checking my date's name and last name in a thick, old, black binder with Italy's flag and the restaurant's logo on its cover the host walked us to our table. The service was great, I can tell because only a few minutes after taking our seats the waiter was with our menus and offering us drinks. My date comfortably asked for the wine of the house, because apparently he already knew the place and he was eighteen years old, the legal drinking age in Puerto Rico, when the waiter turned to me and I got nervous, because at that time I never had a drink of alcohol in my life, not even a drop, so I
by Gizel E. Vega Oquendo
I remember my first date. Not only because it was my first romantic experience with who I considered during that time "the boy of my dreams", but also because it was one of the most embarrasing experiences of my life. I was 17 years old back then, but I remember it like if it was yesterday. We took a long road trip from Carolina to the Old San Juan. Along the way we were sharing experiences and funny anecdotes, we were telling each other the kind of stories you tell in highschool, about pranks, teachers, odd classmates and issues that only a highschool student can understand.
We arrived to the restaurant and everything in it looked fancy. The sights were all bright because of the illumination of the place; everything was sorrounded with colorful lamps with different shapes, there were autographed pictures of what appeared to be various local celebrities who had visited the restaurant, such as José Feliciano and Ednita Nazario, the tables were decorated with red and yellow roses, Dean Martin's lovable music was comming out of the restaurant's speakers and the smell of garlic frying in olive oil in the air gave me that sensation that only good Italian restaurants can give to a woman with a great taste like myself. As we walked in the host politely saluted us and asked my date if he had a reservation, to which he replied "yes", after checking my date's name and last name in a thick, old, black binder with Italy's flag and the restaurant's logo on its cover the host walked us to our table. The service was great, I can tell because only a few minutes after taking our seats the waiter was with our menus and offering us drinks. My date comfortably asked for the wine of the house, because apparently he already knew the place and he was eighteen years old, the legal drinking age in Puerto Rico, when the waiter turned to me and I got nervous, because at that time I never had a drink of alcohol in my life, not even a drop, so I