"I don't want to go!" I whine and pull the couch pillow over my face.
"But you have to go. It will be fun. You never go anywhere." He pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. "Please, Meg."
I sigh exasperatedly and toss the pillow in his general direction. It lands with a light plop on the floor. Nowhere near him.
"C'mon, Meggie poo. It's my first event. I need a date!"
I sit up and push my glasses on top of my head and rub my eyes. Oscar is giving me a headache now.
"Then take your boyfriend." I grumble.
"You know Lucas doesn't know I'm interested."
I smile at him. "It would be a good icebreaker. You know 'Hey Luke. I just starred in my first movie. Want to bang?'"
He smacks my arm and leans into the couch in laughter.
"You're so crass. Besides, who else would I want to go with me? You're my best friend. And just so you know, it wouldn't hurt for you to go out and have a little fun."
I roll my eyes at him and prepare myself for the same speech I always get."
"You need to have fun, Meg. That are thousands of guys out there that would give their left arm to have a night with you."
I roll my eyes again.
"Seriously. Find a guy. One night. It doesn't have to be so serious. You're always so serious."
I sigh.
"I killed that spider for you last week. You owe me." He argues, dropping the topic of my sex life for a moment to get back to his first task at hand.
I roll my eyes and give him a dumbfounded look. "You screamed and threw a shoe at it. You broke my mirror."
"But I killed the spider."
"You also got 7 years of bad luck."
He leans his head into my shoulder and fakes a cry.
"Meagan. Meg. Meggie. Babe."
"Oh my gosh, please shut up. I'll go." I push him off of me, my stomach rolling with laughter.
"Yes!" He cheers. "We have to find you an outfit." He says eyeing my sweatpants from high school, holey tee shirt and giant fuzzy socks that are covered with pictures of cats.
"I thought I'd just wear this. You'll have the hottest date there." I tease.
He sticks his finger in his mouth and gags. I grab the pillow from the floor and this time I do hit him.
"I'll just wear something I already have." I tell him, picking up my laptop and logging on to finish up some work.
He doesn't say anything, until I look up to see his chocolate brown eyes staring at me.
"What?"
"Meg, honey, you know I love you. I really do." I raise an eyebrow at him as he talks. Conversations like these never go well for me. The last time Oscar said I needed new clothes I ended up with belly shirts and hip hugger jeans that faded away when Paris Hilton did. Not to mention the horrible blonde dye job he talked me into.
"Oscar, for a gay man, you have horrible taste."
He scoffs and looks offended for a moment. "Meg, for someone with a rocking body you wear clothes that my 90-year-old grandmother would call prudish."
I stick my tongue out at him and collapse on the couch again. He makes me tired.
"Tomorrow. We go shopping. Got it?"
