Hot Chicks Have Places To Be, People

I was playing basketball Friday night and, for some reason, I thought about the many times I would play evening games with friends years ago.

When my friends and I would play basketball at night, girlfriends would show up. And it wouldn't really just be girlfriends there, but the semi-girlfriends, the friends with benefits and those girls that we would never really explain what was happening because we never wanted to seem shallow to each other, though we absolutely knew how shallow we/people could be.

“So…are you two together, dating, just hooking up or what?”

“Hey, do you ask what every ingredient is in your favorite dishes at restaurants? Or do you just chow down and worry about it later?”

“What the fuck, man…? What the hell is wrong with you? What kind of analogy is that?”

“Look, I just know what tastes good and what doesn’t. Right now, it’s delicious. I’ll figure out the price and recipe later.”

“What the shit are you talking about? Are you hungry or retarded? I really can’t tell at this point.”

Anyway, when the girls would show up, I slowly noticed that the hotter ones were always the ones holding their car keys. Even if they sat down for the entire night, they would have their car keys in hand, as if they could leave at any second. I don’t know what kind of trickery it was, but it could symbolize a number of things: “You barely have me,” “You’re lucky I’m here as I have other places to be but I chose to be here,” or, “Hey! I have a car!”

But I would see them and wonder if they were actually staying or if this was some devious, suspicious and inane ploy. They would be blondes with party girl ponytails from the swim team or cheerleaders in hoodies. They were comfortable with how they appeared, not exactly decorated like they usually were at school. So it seemed like they were extraordinarily relaxed with the situation, but there would be the small, quiet stress in their palms.

If they came here, why did it seem like they were always leaving?

Over time, the car keys in hand became a symbol of how much maintenance the girl required, which as a teenager, was sometimes matched or intertwined with how attractive the girl was. Whether it was on purpose or not, the whole car key thing intrigued me. They made the effort to come to the game, but they also came in pajama bottoms with car keys in hand. I suppose as adolescent males with boners every few seconds, we were supposed to think things like, “My god, she could leave at any second! I better say something cool during the next water break!”

I don’t know if this has carried over to my deranged stint as a twenty-something. It very well could have. I don’t know, because we all don’t have the free time we had then. So a girlfriend might not come to any games. Instead, she might work overtime until her boyfriend comes over. Who knows? Also, I exercise so infrequently, I can only concentrate on my own fractured breathing pattern instead of any girl on the sideline.

You know, that's probably why. It's because we were in better shape when we were teenagers. Now, if a girl came to see us play basketball, we'd probably shun ourselves like vampires in daylight, screaming, "Don't look at me!"

But it used to be, "Hey, you should drop by tonight and watch me do a dozen backflips when I dunk the ball, all while flexing my stomach and popping a couple boners all at once."

Shrug.

Maybe next time I see a girl there for one of the guys with car keys in her hand, I’ll senselessly yell, “Where the fuck do you have to be? Nowhere. Or you wouldn’t be here. Just put the car keys away and stop fucking with our heads. We don’t get boners every few seconds anymore, so we’ve evolved. Kind of. We know you just want us to talk to you and throw down game, but the only game happening is this one and the score is totally fucked right now.”

It would be totally bad-ass, unless of course I was the one dating her, in which case, I would probably say something closer to: “Hey, you look really pretty tonight. I don't usually play that bad. Usually, I have a six pack. So, what are you doing afterwards? Do you want to do something or do you have somewhere to be?”