A Hot Dog in the Park
By Ingrid

(I wrote this in my creative writing class.  I am sorry
its so short.  This was originally titled Love Gun in
a Bun, but my sister didn't understand what it meant. 
Hope everyone likes it.  This is my third to write,
but this is the first time I have ever been brave
enough to send it to a group.)

It is Saturday.  I am walking in the park and I get
hungry for something.  What do I want?  I spot the hot
dog stand nearby and I look in my pocket for money. 
Empty, dangit.  I look at my purse and at the bottom I
see a one dollar bill.  I grab it and walk over to the
hotdog stand to buy a foot long.  The guy asks, what
will it be?  I reply, one foot long, with mustard,
relish, onions and pickles.  He gives me my hot dog. 
Its delicious.  I turn around and right behind me is a
guy.  He is a little taller than me and he has dark
hair.  He is cute, I think.  He asks for a hot dog
too, but with no onions.  I smile at him, because he
is cute and he smiles back.  I walk away and sit on
the bench next to the water fountain.  I watch him
closely.  He is wearing a blue tshirt that is tight
and his pants are tight too, but they are faded
bluejeans.  He has on blue tennis shoes and white
socks.  When he finishes his hotdog, he comes over to
sit down next to me and I notice he has a bit of
mustard on his chin.  I 
giggle a bit and he gets upset, thinking I am laughing
at him.  I tell him that he has mustard on his chin,
and he laughs.  I take a napkin and wipe his chin. 
What's your name? He asks me.  I reply, Ingrid.  Very
pretty, he says.  He smiles.  My name is Eric and I'm
in the rock band KISS, he says back.  I really like
KISS, i say to him.  I like the way he smiles at me. 
He takes my hand and we go walking around the park. 
We pass trees, and flowers.  We pass kids playing on
the playground.  Its such a pretty Saturday.  Eric
asks me if I wanna go back to his house, but I say no,
I'm not that type of girl.  He asks me how old I am. 
I say I am 20, but I dont think he believes me.  I
really like him, but I dont want to tell him I am
really 16.  How old are you really? He asks again. 
This time I tell him I am 16.  Are you mad? i ask. 
No, he replies.  Age doesn't mean anything to me.  I
am relieved to hear him say that.  He takes my hand
and we keep walking.  I want him to kiss me because he
is so cute.  
Finally he does and I love it.  His lips are so soft. 
What a great Saturday this was.