Life Ain't A Fairy Tale Read Free Page A

is a little
rounder. Despite that change, my face still looks acceptable. I
look more like my father.
    Mother and father are excited about me
finally going out. They are in their late sixties. My parents are
anxious to see me settle down with a woman. They don't want to
leave me alone when they die. They always presented girls they knew
to me. Unfortunately, my shyness and low self-esteem didn't help me
get any of these girls. Without intention, I tormented my parents
every time I said to them, "I am going to be single forever."
    In terms of personality, my parents are very
different from me. They love to talk a lot while I am a man of a
few words. I speak only to be a part of society. They are also very
vain and prideful. They always tell me to fix my hair and clothing,
but I always dress well. You wouldn't believe they are my parents.
I don't care what other people think of me. My parents even care
about what strangers they don't know think of them.
    For my date with Sara, I am wearing black
jeans, white and black sneakers, and a beige dress shirt. There is
nothing overtly wrong when I dress myself to go out. They always
see a little flaw somewhere in my clothing. It bothers me when they
obsess with me looking perfect, but I let them say and do whatever
they want because I know how they are.
    Today, they advise me to be nice and
talkative in my date with Sara.
    "Remember to talk. Don't be sitting there
quietly during the ride to the restaurant and when you eat at the
restaurant." My mother advises me.
    "Don't worry. He is a college graduate. He
can talk, but don't talk too much. Don't overdo it. Do it when it
makes sense." My father argues back.
    "I just want to, at least, make sure they
stay friends after this date." My mother disputes my father's
argument.
    "Your hair is standing up a little at the
back of your head. Sit still...I'm going to put gel and comb it
down." My father rushes to get the comb. There is nothing wrong
with my hair, trust me.
    "The t-shirt under your dress shirt is
wrinkled. Let me fix it." My mother straightens it out.
    "Oh, I heard a car beeping outside. Let's
check if it's her." My father takes note.
    At the front of the house, we look through
the windows in the living room to confirm it is she. She told me
she would come in a four-door white convertible. That is the same
car waiting for me outside.
    "Oh sweetie, have a good time. You look so
beautiful, just like a prince. May God bless you, son. She is going
to love you." My mother kisses me good-bye on the cheek.
    "Of course, he is a macho man. Look at how
good he looks in those clothes." My father hugs me tightly.
    Leaving the house, I walk down the steps to
get into her car. As I enter the car, we greet each other. She
wears a black and white striped blouse with short sleeves and blue
jeans. Her long hair is trimmed to shoulder length. Sara still
looks attractive with her expressive brown eyes, her pink lipstick,
her beautiful light tan skin color, and her modest makeup. She
looks very sexy when she handles the steering wheel in the driver's
seat. I refrain from complimenting her because I might scare her
away.
    "Do you like Spanish music?" I ask. She has
an English radio station on.
    "Yeah, I listen to that, too."
    "Really. I used to like English music a lot
when I was younger. I listen to Spanish music more now. I like
their beats." I am a man of few words. I know that today, I will
have to be the opposite of myself if I want to win her heart.
    "Really. You know, I listen to anything. I
like music I can dance to. I listen to many types of music. I even
listen to Brazilian music."
    "That is cool." I also had to keep my cool. I
can't look like I'm drooling over her, even though I am on the
inside. Women don't like desperate men or men with low self-esteem.
I am internally repeating to myself, "Be confident. Be confident.
You are the best."
    After half an hour of driving, we arrive at
the restaurant. I help her sit in her chair. We look at the