The Wet Spot: The real story of Patrick's prom

Categories: The Wet Spot

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Last week, I thought it would be fun to take a trip down memory lane and relive the magic of my high school prom while weaving in some tips for all of my barely legal readers (shout out to Chaska High. What up Hawks?).

Personally, I thought it was hilarious. So did most of the Wet Spot readers. And so did Kadeem Hardison (and if anyone knows about what's funny and what's not, it's Dwayne Wayne). But there was one person who read last week's Wet Spot and didn't find it so funny - my prom date from 10 years ago.

Had I remembered that we're Facebook friends, I never would have posted a link to the story on my profile. But I didn't remember, and I did post the link. So she read the story, and she was pissed.

(Author's note: Just more evidence that Facebook is ruining the world. I would totally delete my account, but I just can't stop taking quizzes to find out what Sex in the City character I am.)

She claimed that I might not have been completely accurate in the way I replayed the evening's events, and that my portrayal of our relationship wasn't entirely true. That's why this week, I've agreed to allow her to give her side of the story as to what went down in that romantic banquet hall and reveal what she believes to be "the truth." This could get ugly.

(Author's note: Because I'm not a total dick, I've decided to change her name to protect her identity. But for the record, my prom date never had an eating disorder or got drunk and flipped her car with her kids in the backseat.)

From: Tracey Gold
Sent: Tues., 5/19/09, 1:17 PM
To: Patrick Strait (
eroticspecialist@gmail.com)

Hey Patrick,

So I just finished reading your "advice" to readers about your past prom experience. While I wasn't surprised to see that you're still a complete douche bag, I was appalled that you decided to include numerous oblique references to ME throughout your article. Also, I think you left out some key details about that fateful night that I think your readers deserve to hear. In case your prom-night memories have faded, allow me to refresh you.

First, it felt great to find out that I was your sloppy second prom date because your first choice turned you down (smart girl). And it was enlightening to learn that you only asked me because you thought I'd put out.

(Patrick's feedback: Tracey, you gave my friend an HJ during an assembly for our high school wrestling team. Was it really THAT far-fetched that I thought you might put out?)

I'll admit, I was surprised you told the truth about your boner. But I'm sure your readers will be fascinated to know that your erection didn't end after just one song. It lasted through, "Here Comes the the Hotstepper," "Gonna Make You Sweat," and "Rhythm is a Dancer." Basically, it lasted all freaking night. 

(Patrick's feedback: I dare any male reader to listen to those three songs in a row and tell me that they aren't equally aroused. Did you really use the word "boner?")

The slow dance that seemed to have the most profound effect on you was indeed the last song of the night, "Heaven" by Bryan Adams. Unfortunately, I knew I couldn't get away with a seventh bathroom trip, so I took a deep breath and prepared get violated once again by your erection. (Author's note: I swear, if you could have harnessed all your sexual energy from prom night alone, you could heat an entire home for a month! See? I can write witty little "author's notes" too. You're sooo clever.) 

(Patrick's feedback: You're coming dangerously close to stepping over the line. Do not ever steal my gimmick ever again. Ever.)

I admit, I let you kiss me during Bryan Adams, but only because I was totally in love with him. Finally, the song ended and just when I thought the worst was behind me...what is this? You're CRYING? YOU FREAKING CRIED TO A BRYAN ADAMS SONG. You even wiped your eyes on my dress. If you thought you couldn't live down your night-long erection, try that one on for size, you blubbering man-child

(Patrick's feedback: There is a huge difference between tearing up and full-on crying. Plus, that's romantic song.)

At the time, I felt sorry for you. That's why I hugged you and even made out with you a little bit more. After that night, I don't think we really talked anymore. Until now, that is. Anyways, I'm sure you'll twist this around and try to make me sound like a total bitch, which is fine. But if you ever use my name in any of your articles again, I will hunt you down and devour you like Guy Fieri on free meatball day.

(Patrick's feedback: Twist your words? You just dissed me for getting emotional to Bryan Adams. If that's not bitter, cold-hearted, c-word material, I don't know what is.)

Love, Tracey

So there it is. I hope you're happy, Carol Seaver. I'm just trying to make the world a better place, and you have to come through and wreck it with your Facebook-hate. And while I still think you're sad and empty on the inside, I will be stalking your profile tonight and reminiscing about the past while looking at pictures of you and your husband.

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