I sat down at the table, confused. The restaurant lighting was dim and romantic; a single candle burned, surrounded by roses. Across from me was a mutton-chopped man. He sighed, giving me a weary look.
"So, how’s this one going to go?" he asked.
I glanced around nervously. "I'm afraid I'm a little confused. What are we doing?"
He adjusted his pince-nez, shaking his head. "Valentine's Day? The prompt is a date. You should be setting up the scene for something romantic or funny. I'd say dirty, but we know you don't have it in you."
I blushed. "Umm, wow, this is embarrassing. I think I'm in the wrong writing exercise. I mean, not that you aren’t perfectly, uh, dateable and whatnot, but I feel kind of uncomfortable with this. I’m married, and even if I weren’t, I’m the same age as Evil Junior.”
Evil Editor nodded thoughtfully. “True. It would be a little creepy.”
“Whirl does creepy much better than I do. Wouldn’t you rather be on a writing prompt date with him?”
“No doubt it would be funnier,” Evil said, glaring.
“Alrighty, I’ll just get him in here. See you at next week’s exercise?”
“If you even bother to show up. Honestly, kids these days…” I stood up, letting him mutter as I crossed to the door.
“Thank goodness I got out of that one,” I whispered, relieved as I watched a man dressed in drag materialize into my chair, signaling the start of another person’s story. Waving wildly as Evil looked on in horror, the transvestite started into some delightfully incomprehensible story about aliens and tentacles.
At least I’m pretty sure he said tentacles. Like I said, not my type of prompt…