JENNIE
"Honestly, I don't know how you talked me into this garbage," I say, shuffling across the street, my hands pinning down the sides of my dress.
In a brave attempt to revive my love life, I'm wearing a nude color dress that apparently screams sex (I have my doubts), but I trust my friends.
While Rosie is wearing a tight black corset top and even tighter black pants, plus a pair of pointy heels that I know give her blisters. No pain, no gain, she likes to say. Her hair as glossy as white chocolate, flowing so seamlessly down her back it looks like it melted there.
We turn a corner and then another until we're standing in a small alley.
"Stop whining. You might meet the woman of your dreams tonight," Rosie says.
Actually, I think it'd make more sense to hope I bear witness to the second coming of Jesus, but still, I try to remain optimistic.
"Hurry up. Are you deliberately going slow?" Rosie glances over her shoulder, her brown eyes glittering in the passing headlights. "It's just up here." She eventually stops, and I see the dingy sign of Milligan's Bar poking out behind a dumpster.
"I never walk in heels this high. I should know my limitations," I mutter, trying to go as fast as I can, looking like some concussed giraffe. Rosie starts to laugh.
"Oh, you think that is going to make me feel better? And why is there a dumpster out front? Is that where I'm going to find the woman of my dreams?"
"Shut up, or I'll chuck you in there." Rosie giggles and then almost yanks my arm out of its socket as she pulls us through the back door.
Honestly, everything is so dramatic with Rosie. We couldn't go through the main entry?
We soon come across a lady standing behind what looks like a lectern, and she has spiky burgundy-colored hair, high-waisted combat pants, and about ten coats of mascara. She looks us up and down with something that is close to contempt.
"Speed dating?"
"Yes," we reply nervously.
After we pay, she roughly slaps a mandatory nametag to our chests.
It's okay. I don't want to be here either, I tell her telepathically.
Pushing through a heavy velvet curtain, Rosie immediately snatches two drinks off the oaky, red bar. "Here. Drink," she orders, and suddenly, I'm thirsty like a camel. I don't care what's in it. I just drink, shifting from one blistered foot to another.
"Oh, look. Two girls dressed as the red and green Power Rangers," I muse and stir the straw in my drink. "Remind me why I let you talk me into this again?" I ask my alleged best drink.
"Because you love me," she replies, scanning the room.
"Questionable."
I barely put my glass down when some burly woman with strong arms maneuvers me into a chair. "Sit."
"Oh, um -"
"Sit!" she repeats, and I gulp down.
When I spot Rosie, she is being whipped over to the other side and looks as panicked as me.
Isn't this supposed to be fun?
There's a loud ding, and I startle. A woman appears out of nowhere and drops into the seat opposite me. Massive glasses, crazy makeup, and I immediately know this isn't going to go anywhere.
I cross my arms in defiance. Oddly, she refuses to make eye contact. "Hi," I say reluctantly.
"Hi."
She's looking at my chest, trying to see my name.
