Struggles of the Wallflowers

The struggles of the wallflower lifestyle-what are they? Let us tell you. We were both laughing the other day when Corinne sent me a text talking about a date she had recently gone on. Our conversation went a little something like this:

C: "We went to dinner and then a formal dance-the first dance of my life that I danced every slow dance! It was great to know that I wouldn't have to stand around awkwardly during the slow songs. Lol!"
A: "Amennn! I was laughing the other day thinking about my senior prom and how I didn't know that you dance with your date the entire night. #struglife"

Nothing like a gym floor and dim lighting to make you feel like a 14-year-old again. (shudder)

You know, now that we have this whole "one-time-I-had-a-date-and-I-danced-the-night-away" thing going for us, perhaps the wallflower status we uphold at dances can be left in the past.

The Homeboy

You move over 600 miles away from home thinking boys from the valley you grew up in are out of sight, out of mind. Wrong. Sometimes the amount of times you end up running into them on campus is uncanny. I must warn you beforehand- That's when they ask you out. 
1 It is usually done through a Facebook message.
2 You end up driving yourself to the location of the date.
3 He ends up talking about the girl he went out with last week and how he really wants to go out with her again.
4 You will probably think, after 90 minutes, that the show you're at is over. However, it's just the intermission. (it took 90 minutes to get to intermission?!)
5 Just so you can prepare yourself, you're in charge of making 100% of the conversation.
6 Over 6 hours later you're wished goodnight with an awkward smile as you walk yourself to your front door.

Fast forward a month when you both walk into your singles branch back home. And then asked to team teach. What's a girl to do?

The Moment I Said It

Remember this guy? Well, turns out he's a glutton for punishment, and he keeps coming back for more. Or maybe he just enjoys getting a front-row seat to my apocalyptic episodes of social embarrassment. Who's to say? Regardless of his reasoning, he's become the catalyst for the latest slew of comically tragic actions in days gone by, and last night was no exception. There he was, just sharing some fun facts about his love of newspapers and how he holds a subscription to the New York Times so he can do the crossword, when a four-lettered kamikaze flew out of my mouth before I had time to eliminate it's doom's day effect. That's right: I said the L-word............................................................................................................

I. WAS. MORTIFIED.

I'm STILL mortified. I turned SO red, and tried desperately to explain through my stuttering that I didn't mean it that way, but, oh gosh, there was no saving that blunder. Meanwhile, just to prove what a stud he is, he laughed good-naturedly and said,"This sounds like material for the blog." "Too soon!" I cried. "It's too soon to joke about!" Needless to say, at that moment, I would have been perfectly happy to allow the earth to swallow up my pathetic carcass, never to terrorize the world again.

One Request

Ever been on a date that you weren't sure was a date?

Yeah, me too.

Ever been so self-conscious on said non-date-maybe-a-date that your sensitivity to other's glances and remarks are heightened? 

Been there. 

Been there as recently as last Saturday. There I was, standing there with my I-wish-I-understood-more-clearly-if-this-is-what-I-think-it-is partner, waiting for a table at Eclectic Cafe, one of the most fun, original gems of Tucson, when the hostess turns to me and informs us that she's going to seat us in the booth for nine. Without missing a beat, I look at her and say,"Are you saying we're fat?" Poor, poor child. She was so unprepared for my sass that cracks like a whip sometimes.... she didn't even know what hit her. I tried to console her and take back my overreaction to the heightened situation, but in the end, just turned to face the canyon that was to be our table. After sitting down across from my contemporary (so far that email would have been the only sufficient means of communication) we both slid the length of the Mississippi river to the middle of our booth and tried to make ourselves look as small as possible. I ask you, Universe, could you cut a girl a break?