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September 13, 2013 / MissSteele

Shirt, Me Likey!

This may come as a surprise to none of you, but I am a bit awkward in social settings.  I’m not exactly skilled in the art of conversation, especially with men. Actually, I don’t know how to speak to them at all. Growing up, most girls knew how to flirt. Not me. Flirting is apparently not my thing because I either end up inadvertently insulting the guy or trying to make a sexy face that comes across as me having to poop. This is a curse I have carried since birth, I believe. Back in the day when I tried to attract potential suitors, I would mull for days over something witty to say, but I would then blurt out something completely different under pressure.

Once, a guy made me laugh and I drooled all over myself. This was obviously a far cry from the feminine giggle many of my fellow females had seemed to master.  Seeing as how I often came across as an inbred swine with a severe speech impediment while trying to woo a man, it’s a million wonders I lured one into marrying me at all. I suppose he was able to look beneath my pitiful attempts to flirt and my awkward quirks. Either that, or he was drunk when we starting dating and just kind of went with it.

While it is true I don’t have to try to entice men into courting me any longer (not that I ever had to, women are independent and all that jazz), I occasionally reminiscence about the good old days when I couldn’t speak to a guy without immediately regretting everything I said to him. This is how it often went:drawing3

That really happened, by the way. This perfectly normal guy was attempting to make conversation with me and I blurted out “SHIRT! ME LIKEY!” in the loudest voice possible, instead of  simply saying “I like your shirt.” That is how awkward I truly am.  I go to give a guy a compliment, and I end up screaming unintelligible words at him in a high-pitched voice that only dogs can hear. I guess I should just be thankful I actually said “shirt” and not “shart.” Now that would have been embarrassing.

The most mortifying of these moments, however, happened one fateful day in high school. I was pining over a certain fellow in my AP English class. You know the drill- the doodling of our names together, the hearts all over his picture in the yearbook, so on and so forth. Actually, “pining” may be an understatement. Now that I think about it, I was creepily obsessed with him. But, he was like- such a babe. Every time I stared into his eyes, I felt like angels were descending from the skies and strumming their harps for me while feeding me grapes.

Ahem. Anyway, I had the pleasure of sitting in front of him in class my junior year of high school. It was a lot of pressure for me to sit in front of him like that. I had to always make sure the back part of me looked as good as possible, since that was the only part he saw. I always ensured my hair looked perfect, there was no cat fur on my sweater and I always, above all else, had to make sure to never fart. I was careful to never speak to him because, well, we all know that would have ended disastrously for everyone involved. I didn’t want him to know how socially unacceptable I truly was, so I just remained silent around him.

As it turns out, I was right in doing that. I should have kept doing that. Unfortunately, I didn’t. One brave day, I spoke to him. It was probably the worst thing I have ever done.  It all started when my teacher complimented my hair. As I previously said, I was very meticulous about my hair at this time in my life because I was trying to make the back of my head as presentable as possible. Therefore, I spent a ton of time crimping it one morning. Yes, you heard me. I said crimping. Don’t judge me.

“Wow, your hair looks so cute today! How long did it take you to do that?” she asked.

“Oh, just like an hour,” I said, trying to play it cool and hold in my farts.

All of the sudden, my beautiful angel of a crush spoke up from behind me and said, “An hour? Oh my gosh. That’s crazy. I only spend like 5 minutes on my hair, tops.”

This was the perfect time for me to say something witty, something clever. I could have said, “Well, not everyone can be as naturally gorgeous as you.” Too much? That probably would have been too much. Although, it still would have been better than what I actually said. Come to think of it, “I ran over your dog in the parking lot” probably would have been better than what I actually said.

I meant to say, “Well, that’s because you are a guy.” That sounds innocent enough, right? That would have just been me implying that he didn’t have to try so hard because he’s a carefree, low-maintenance kind of dude. Unfortunately, that is not what I said. Instead, I whipped my head around and said in the bitchiest voice possible, “Well, I can see why!”

WHY DID I SAY THAT?! As soon as the words left my lips, I felt immediate regret. I turned around, melted into my seat and wished for the sweet arms of death to take me. He didn’t say anything back, he was speechless and stunned by my bitchy tone and harsh words. I had literally spoken two words to this guy my entire life and suddenly I was chastising him about his physical appearance and implying that he was a hideous creature. I may have well have just said, “Why do you even bother with your hair? It is repulsive, just like your face. You are a lost cause.” He and the girl beside him made a what-is-that-chick’s-problem face to one another and he let out a bewildered, “Phhh.”

I so badly wanted to turn around and say, “That’s not what I meant to say! I think you are the perfect specimen of a man! There is absolutely nothing wrong with you! I LOVE YOUR HAIR!” But, I opted out of that one. I thought it probably would have done more harm than good at that point.

What I meant to say was, "You are good-looking," not "You are revolting to everyone around you."

What I meant to say was, “You are good-looking,” not “You are revolting to everyone around you.”

From that day on, I am convinced he thought I was a vicious bitch. But, that’s what I get for trying to give someone a reassuring compliment. After that incident, I learned that in my case, silence is golden. I thought if I didn’t say anything at all, I couldn’t say or do anything unseemly. It turns out, that wasn’t such a great approach either because instead of deterring men by accidentally humiliating them in public, I creeped them out by staring at them blankly while they attempted to make conversation with me. I guess a dead Stepford Wife stare is just as big of a turn-off as a foolish mouth.

Dear God, my husband is a lucky man!


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