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Melissa Hughes
06 February 2006 @ 05:41 pm
Miles was 34. A stock broker. A man with a slight resemblance to Matthew McConaughey who was extremely conservative with his money and even more conservative with his political leanings. He had, over the course of his life, acquired a substantial nest egg and would be considered, by your average red blooded female, as a good “catch.”

But Melissa saw none of this. In fact, having already vowed to “hate” her hapless escort for the evening, she only saw him as something she would have to endure in order to get a free dinner and to shut up her friend who had set her up on this “date” in the first place. To be fair, she had arranged her hair and clothes in the most elegant way she knew, proving she was at least willing to do her part and allow Miles the privilege of being seen with her at whatever expensive restaurant he had hopefully chosen for this occasion.

However, she was NOT prepared for what greeted her as the car made an unexpected turn away from the elegant downtown restaurants and toward the convention center. As it approached she saw something frightening on the flashing autotron sign on the convention center marquis. “Destination: Financial Independence . . . Destination: Financial Independence . . . Destination: Financial Independence . . . ” it mocked in a continuous red scroll.

“Uhhhhhhmmm. Miles?” she refrained from pronouncing his name with too much sarcasm. “I thought we were going out to dinner?”

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I'm feeling : Oblivious
I'm hearing : Quantanamera