I used to be so scared to talk to girls. I had a girlfriend from 4th-7th grade and would sit next to her at recess for 45 minutes and not say anything. The bell would ring, I’d go back to class, write her a ten page letter, and hand it to her through the window of her bus.
I was so nervous for the first couple minutes I wouldn’t say anything, then five minutes would pass and then it would just be awkward to ask, “so, do you like recess? Born and raised in Sacramento huh? What are your thoughts about that no running around the pool rule? Have you received a lot of sponsorships for the upcoming jog-a-thon?”
No, I’m not saying none of that. I will sit here in silence like a psycho, reeking of five sprays of Aspen cologne, hair unreasonably stiff from too much L.A. Looks Mega Hold 5, combined with holding down the button for 15 seconds on my sister’s Rave Hairspray under a blow dryer on high.
Maybe I’ll talk about the upcoming handball tournament. Then that voice inside my head would say, “Really? You’re gonna let ten minutes pass by and then talk about handball you loser? No wonder why you’re only a white belt in Kung-Fu. All the other kids you started with are yellow belts.” Now it’s been 20 minutes and my eyes are red because I’m allergic to my cologne and I’m sweating so the L.A. Looks is dripping down my forehead into my eyes.
30 minutes passes and I’m just waiting for the bell to ring. My only saving grace is to pick up trash on the ground and show it to the yard duty, so I can receive an “Act of Kindness” sticker. My poor girlfriend picked up some trash too. We were like a fake ass Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.