Ever the sartorial risktaker, I chose to wear stiletto rollerskates to the prom since they provided the perfect counterpoint to my asymmetrical tangerine chiffon gown. I knew I looked totally trig and hip as I approached the stairs, my prom date anxiously waiting in the vestibule below. However, my debut came to a halt as my right foot shot forward with a sudden jerk while my left foot slid sideways. My arms grasped for the banister but not before I flopped down the steps like a slinky, arms flailing as odd, grunting noises tumbled out of my mouth of their own accord. As I reached the bottom my knee collided with my prom date’s nuts. I couldn’t help but notice how nicely his powder blue tux complimented my dress, and I said so as we lay there, a crumpled mess, while my proud mom snapped pictures saying, “I don’t want you to forget these moments.”
Hansel looked pretty trig considering he just had his head stuck in a banister for sixteen weeks.
Seymour Butts grasped the banister, his right hand slick with sweat. As he descended the stairs, he noted how trig and debonair Sir Johnson looked, but put the thought out of his mind immediately. On his steps down the last two stairs, he put on a brave smile that barely covered up the grimace on his face. His fiancee, Lady Mandboolbs, linked her ham-like arm through his and giggled, her double chins trembling with delight.
“Fuck…” he thought. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”