So, in my imaginative writing class we had this assignment to portray a comedic situation... where people are in a situation and it's not supposed to be funny but the way they're doing it (or stumbling through it) makes it funny. This is what I wrote:
Sex 101
Uh-oh, I’m in trouble. You know you’re in for it when your parents say they want to schedule a meeting between soccer practice and homework. Usually that time is reserved for catching up on the day, watching TV, or just eating dinner. Not tonight apparently. This meeting has been scheduled for a week now, and as each day gets closer, I dread it more and more. Maybe they caught me, finally. Maybe they’ve seen me sneaking a peek in my sister’s diary? Or, maybe they saw me trying to figure out the parental code to the blocked TV channels? Why couldn’t they just yell at me right away? To schedule a meeting seems harsh and unjust. Just get it over with already.
Later that day, after soccer practice and before homework, I’m sat down for the meeting. Mom and dad together on the couch armed with a stack of books and me on the chair, facing them like a soldier in front of the firing squad. There’s silence.
I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Oh! Could we please just get this over with?? What’s my punishment? What’s my crime? Just give it to me already, this scheduling and waiting around business is about to drive me nuts. And besides, I didn’t do it and it wasn’t my fault!”
My exclamations bring a startled look from my parents. Wait, that means they weren’t going to yell at me? What’s this about then?
Mom begins. “No, Alex. You’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong, at least not that we know of… yet. It’s just that Dad and I have been thinking you’re getting to that age where you’re starting to notice girls…”
And that’s when it clicks for me. In my head, I’m screaming, praying. No. No no no. This is not the sex talk. Please, don’t let it be the sex talk. Anything but the sex talk. Yell at me. Scream at me. Lock me in my room for the next 6 months. I don’t mind, really. Just don’t give me the sex talk.
“…and I know we’ve never actually talked about…uh...erm… you know, sex.” she says, whispering the last word, barely able to get it out.
Dad takes over for mom, who’s now blushing so bright red you’d think she’d traded her head for a tomato with a face. “So Alex, we just want you to know that if you have any questions, you can talk to your mom,’ an elbow nudge from mom ‘uh, I mean us, if you have any um questions about fucking.” He sits back, looking very pleased with himself for being so forthright.
After a horrified look and another nudge from mom, he corrects himself “uh, I mean, if you have any questions about SEX. Any questions at all, just come to us and we’ll be happy to give you a book showing you whatever you want to know.”
Dad looks at mom, who in turn looks at me. Now they’re both looking at me, and we’re all wishing this moment has never happened.
I couldn’t say anything. Is it possible for a floor to just open up and swallow us, chairs and all? At least if it did we wouldn’t have to relive this horribly embarrassing conversation. But no, the floor stays shut.
My parents decide to end this embarrassing episode and make a quick exit, but not before they put the books down next to me on the couch. ‘Keep them as long as you need them to find out what you want to know.’ I’m told.
Gee, thanks.
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