"Honey, come on! Try on this dress," my mom says.
"But, mom. I don't see a point of doing this," I groan.
Okay, this is what's happening; mom told me that dad's business partner wants to invite our family for a dinner, with their family. At the moment, she's forcing me to wear a dress; simply to make a good impression on them.
Dress to impress, people say. I don't exactly believe in that.
The dress she's handing me, is a short sleeved navy colored dress, with white peter pan collars and it comes all the way to my knees.
It's pretty formal, but I don't see a reason why I should wear a dress for this occasion.
Well, it's just not that- I can't be bothered to sit ladylike and all that.
"Come on, it's not that hard," she insists.
I glance at her, and realize that she has a very stern look on her face.
"Okay," I finally give in.
She smiles. I unwillingly fit myself into the dress, as my mom zips it up from behind.
When I grab my converse from the shelf, my mom interrupts, "A converse with this dress? I don't think so. What about the ballet flats?"
I sigh. "Okay, if you say so."
Our whole family's wearing formal clothes; dad and Scott are wearing dress shirts, with simple neck ties, and mom and I are wearing formal dresses.
We get into our car. Our car isn't gorgeous or anything; it's just an ordinary black colored four-seater car, with fairly sturdy wheels, and tinted windows.
Remember how my mom doesn't know how to drive?
Yeah, so the only time when we get to use our private vechicle is when dad comes home. So, this is the time now.
After twenty minutes of drive, we arrive to the restaurant.
Before we even enter, mom says, "Remember- be polite, and be nice. Especially you, Scott."
"Okay, we get it mom," Scott grumbles.
Dad chuckles and tells mom, "Don't worry, darling. I'm sure our kids will do just fine."
She still looks concerned. I mean, I know what she means. Scott can sometimes be rude; not that he intends to be.
We shut the car door, and walk up towards the restaurant.
The restaurant is pretty grand with fancy lightings on the outside. By the look of the atmosphere, it seems like a restaurant which our family would not voluntarily come to.
I feel the sudden rush of intimidation.
The waiter in a black bow tie suddenly comes up to us and asks, "Sir, did you make a reservation?"
My dad replies, "Yes, I did. I'm John Anderson?"
The waiter says, "Ah, yes. Mr. Anderson. Please, follow me."
The waiter leads us through the way, and we take a seat on the chair.
It's a round eight-seater table, with a smooth, red velvet tablecloth laying on top of it. The cream colored antique chairs with beautiful rose cravings, are beneath the table.
A classy piano music is being played in the hallway. It's the type of music which I never get a chance to listen to- classical music.
The calm, sophisticated atmosphere makes me tensed already. My hands feel clammy.
It's always pretty nerve-wrecking to meet someone new. Especially,...