It was the biggest night of your young life. You proudly donned your tuxedo, hopped in the car and drove to pick up your angelic girlfriend.
“Hello sir, I’m Jenny’s boyfriend, I’m here to take her to prom.”

You were welcomed in with open arms, they shook your hand and muttered something vague about not having her back too late. You drove off; danced and drank the night away; and then, on the drive home, parked at make-out creek. The curtain draws, flash forward 18 years. You and Jenny are married, you have a daughter, it’s her prom night and you have the chance to avoid all the mistakes that Jenny’s dad made. Like trusting you.

The clock chimes seven as you pace restlessly around the living room. This chancer is far from punctual. The seconds tick by and your rage builds, you feel ready to explode at the sheer moxy of this kid who thinks he can stand up your daughter on her big night. It’s now 7:01pm. The doorbell rings. 

A meek young man is standing outside. You open the door halfway, not yet ready to grant him passage.

“So, you’re the collection of organs, bones, and skin that thinks he’s good enough to date my daughter?” The boy didn’t respond, clearly taken aback by being reduced to the constituent physical parts of a human being. The silence is interrupted by an object falling from above (roughly from the top of the door, where your hand was) and dropping onto the floor between the two of you. Yourself and the boy each look at the item that has landed by your feet, a Colt .45 Single Action Revolver. “Oh woops! What’s that doing there? We normally keep these in the cupboard, not on the entrance mat!”
“You dropped it.” The boy begins to answer. “It was right there in your ha-”

“Hey, look! It’s loaded!” You say, inspecting the chambers. The boy was, quite rightly, starting to sweat.
“B-be careful where you’re pointing it!” He stammers, again quite rightly, it was pointing directly between his eyes. “You had it right in my fa-”
“Let’s see if it works!” *Click*. You squeeze the trigger, causing your daughter’s prom date to scream so loudly you can barely hear the disappointing click of it cycling through an empty barrel.

“Are you okay in there?” A woman’s voice calls from the kitchen as the boy catches his breath, looking more like someone who’s just finished a run than someone ready to take your daughter to prom.
“All good hun, thanks!” You call back, with a smile. “That’s Amelia’s mother, Jenny, love of my life. Well kid, you’ve passed the first test, you’re still here.” You look at the boy in front of you, rooted to the same spot he was in when you first opened the door. “Name’s Terry, nice to meet you.” 

“D-d-dylan.” He replies, shaking your hand.
“Come join me in the drawing room, Dylan. Amelia won’t be ready for a while.”
“She just texted me saying she’ll be down in a minute.” But Dylan could tell that waiting by the door wouldn’t be an option. The revolver in your hand made that abundantly clear.

You walk Dylan through to the drawing room and gesture for him to take a seat. You pull out a red bandana and tie it around your head.

“I’ve only got the one red bandana but you can use this.” You say, throwing him a striped red and white tea towel. “It’s still a bit wet, sorry. I did the washing up before you arrived.” Dylan obediently affixes the damp towel to his head. As he is tying the knot at the back, he looks up and sees the revolver pointed squarely at your head.
“STOP!” *Click*. He breathes a sigh of relief, another empty barrel.
“Calm down, Dylan. Anyone would think you’re not man enough to take my daughter to prom. Your turn.” You place the revolver on the coffee table. At this, Dylan starts crying and backing away as far into his chair as possible. Amelia hasn’t picked a winner here. “Come on, Dylan. I already did the first one for you, it’s not very sporting to make me shoot all six.”

With his upper and lower lip quivering, Dylan grabs the gun and points it at his head. A fresh cascade of tears pour from his eyes. Dylan closes his eyes and pulls the trigger. *Click*. Only the sound of your future son-in-law’s weeping permeates the silence.
“See that wasn’t so hard, was it? My turn now.” You impatiently reach for the gun, which Dylan is very slow to hand you. “I’m sure you think this is silly now, but just wait until you have a daughter. Oh, your tea towel’s about to go.” You point out. Dylan’s trembling hands reach up for the drooping tea towel and re-tighten it around his head. *Click*. *BANG*!

“OH MY GOD!” Dylan screams.
“What’s going on? What’s going on? Did someone break a plate?” Jenny shouts, running in to the drawing room. Relief floods through her as she sees no broken plates on the coffee table. The horror floods through her as she looks right and sees your bloody, bullet-struck head collapse onto it.
“AHHHHH!!!” She screams. 

“What’s wrong?” Amelia, Dylan’s prom date, looking more beautiful than he possibly could have imagined, like a dream out of a fairytale, has come downstairs and immediately sees the carnage in the drawing room. “AHHHHH!!!” She joins with the chorus of screams and immediately faints, Dylan leaps to his feet to catch her.
“How could this happen?!” Jenny wails. 

Jenny looks around to Dylan, in his tuxedo, a tea-towel tied around his head, with his dazed prom date in his arms. 

“Aww, you two make such a beautiful couple. So lovely.” Jenny says. Dylan is nonplussed by this brisk change of tone. Neither of the young couple respond: Dylan, because this is his first time meeting Amelia’s mum and he’s quite nervous, and Amelia, because she’s unconscious, having just seen her father with a gun in his hand, lying in his own blood. Jenny looked back to her husband’s body and wails again, falling to her knees as she remembers what’s just happened.

“Well, we’d best be off, don’t want to miss all the good songs.” Dylan says, to no response from the distraught wife or unconscious daughter.

Dylan takes Amelia out of the house and rouses her with a powerful smelling salt. They drive off; dance and drink the night away; and then, on the drive home, parked at make-out creek. The curtain draws, flash forward 18 years. Dylan and Amelia are married, they have a daughter, it’s her prom night and Dylan has the chance to avoid all the mistakes that Amelia’s dad made. Like shooting himself in the head.