I rubbished dressing like every dude during prom-because I wanted to be unique! Staring blankly at the ill-fitting suite I had opted for, I felt a wave of remorselessness. My photo appears in the recent issue of the buzz magazine. Every lass must therefore celebrate me. I don’t care if the entire fraternity of Busoga College Mwiri disapproves of my dress code.

Upon arrival at Trinity College Nabbingo the next morning, I arrogantly told my prom date at table, that I never minded if my apparel didn’t suite the occasion.

“You have to,” she hissed. “Am already feeling embarrassment, each moment I spend sharing a meal with a poorly dressed lad. Every girl and boy in the room is staring at you in distaste. I need a hunky guy who will dance the night away with me, but not you; excuse me!”

I slurped noisily from glass, and relaxed back in the chair. “That’s twaddle! You either submit or I apply force.” “What a swizz! You’re so slovenly in your habits! Maybe you need to be reminded, am not your type.”

“What’s your name?”

“Am the greatest nightmare that you wouldn’t wish to experience.”

I plonked the glass I was holding in my hand on the table, grabbed her by the neck and barked. “You either get on the dance floor with me, or face fire. I never came here to be undermined.”

“Am I your housewife? Get those dirty hands off me, before I scream.”

“Shut your gob! None fools around with me, and gets away with it.”

“By the way, am kept wondering where that unbearable stench is emerging from. Have you taken over a month minus showering and brushing your yellow teeth?”

I splashed wine on her face, attracting attention. “Next will be a fist on your face.”

“We shall not tolerate your indiscipline raga-muffin,” my class teacher shouted, while giving a hot slap to my check. “In the first place, you don’t even seem party material. Get the hell out of here.” I hastened to match out amidst jeers from several high school students-my pants getting torn in the process.”

Young beautiful lass slapped my back several times. “Gentleman; wake up!”

“Where am I?”I foolishly asked.

She said. “Sir, mind your reputation and do what brought you to the bank. And as the assistant branch manager, am concerned about your sitting posture and poor dress code, that’s raising people’s eyebrows.”

I ended the slobbering, dubbed my lips with a handkerchief, and looked around to see which part of my body, was drawing the crowd’s attention. Oh my God; I had had worn torn pants and forgotten the underwear too!

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