Sam DiSalvo, contributor
I spent most of my tweens plucking my eyebrows bare in order to look pretty and hairless, a la Hilary Duff. I have black hair, am Middle Eastern and Italian (read: layer of hair over entire body), and had no boyfriends in Good Charlotte, so I was 0 for 3 in my Hilary Duff morph. Not only were my boyfriends not in Good Charlotte; they were the sole worse thing: nonexistent. It had proven difficult for a 12-year-old-going-on-teen-wolf with no social skills to garner male attention. That was, until I turned 16, upon which two boys liked me and I nearly died from attention.
Because I had two suitors, I felt entitled, and thus chose the better-looking one (classic mistake), and we embarked on my first PG-rated date. He wanted to see A History of Violence because he was clearly a 16-year-old of taste. I didn’t know what taste was, so I was excited to try new things with this newfound love of my life. Unfortunately, the love of my life was late, so we missed the first 10 minutes of the film. We opted for the slightly-less-acclaimed Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit.
I planned on watching W&G, but my date did not. He had not even considered that plan. He instead put his arm around me and proceeded to kiss me like I had Nutella on my lips, cheeks, and inner-most molars. But I went with it because that’s what Hilary Duff would have wanted. I did not enjoy myself, but played it off like I did, so he took this as permission to lay me across his legs and make out with me while still getting the W&G vantage point. I was jealous; one of us had the consolation of an old man getting along with his dog, while the other had the consolation of bony knees.
His mother drove us home. All I remember of the drive was that I made fun of her son for being late, and she then told him I was a keeper. Perhaps this was because I was the first person she had met who confirmed her son was incompetent. We ended our relationship over a high five a few days later.
After getting home, I told my mother what had happened. My mother offered this piece of advice to me: “Sam, you can’t go sucking face like that all the time.”
It was the first time I had ever kissed anyone. Despite my initial disgust, I went on to kiss others. Luckily, some were on dates better than the aforementioned, but, obviously, some were not. And though 16-year-old Sam did not enjoy this date, it’s a sentiment occasionally missed. The PG date is never appreciated because both parties are disappointed with its progress, but it’s an art form that everyone must tackle before progressing to the PG-13 and R-rated dates, many of which are terrible and should not even be Redboxed.
The next time someone says, “Keep it PG,” don’t fret. You’ll at least win a mother’s appreciation, even if it’s not your own.