The Lemon Diary
Life Owes Me A Lemon
Sunday. January 18th to be more precise. Not exactly the day the earth stood still, but more like the day I realized how much I hate getting butterflies in my stomach. Seriously. I could shoot the person who said they liked the feeling. I don't see what's so likable.
Likable. I didn't understand why guys found me likable. Well, the few that did anyway. My dating history is not perfect. In fact, you can hardly call it any sort of history.
The first was Robby. He was bigger, had glasses, and messy curls on his head. The first dance I ever went to and I was already asked by a guy to the floor. I stood awkwardly and swayed slightly to each side as he wiggled his limbs and did moves that shouldn't be allowed at school dances. A couple minutes later he asked, "So does this mean we're going out?" I didn't know how to respond so I replied with a shrug, "I just want to dance." I guess you could say that was the end of that one.
The second was Robby's best friend Phil. Phil was chunkier and a little shorter. He asked me out during chorus class, but with my bad hearing I mistakenly thought he was asking me out for Robby (who was chuckling ten feet behind him). My reply: "I don't think this is the best time right now."
The third was Michael. The man whore who skipped to second base before asking me out. Of course though, with how desperate I was (and with hormones raging inside me) I agreed. At first I didn't think he was serious. He was a year younger than me. Skinnier, shorter, and incredibly charming.
You can hardly call that thing we had between us a relationship though. I only saw him on the bus before and after school. Even then we didn't talk. It's fun to flirt, but when you get the real deal, you aren't so giddy anymore. So what I had with Michael lasted - what? - four days before he broke up with me.
The fourth soon to be one of my best friends. Shawn. The one who makes me laugh, who has little quirks of his own.
And the one who is too fragile.
Likable. I didn't understand why guys found me likable. Well, the few that did anyway. My dating history is not perfect. In fact, you can hardly call it any sort of history.
The first was Robby. He was bigger, had glasses, and messy curls on his head. The first dance I ever went to and I was already asked by a guy to the floor. I stood awkwardly and swayed slightly to each side as he wiggled his limbs and did moves that shouldn't be allowed at school dances. A couple minutes later he asked, "So does this mean we're going out?" I didn't know how to respond so I replied with a shrug, "I just want to dance." I guess you could say that was the end of that one.
The second was Robby's best friend Phil. Phil was chunkier and a little shorter. He asked me out during chorus class, but with my bad hearing I mistakenly thought he was asking me out for Robby (who was chuckling ten feet behind him). My reply: "I don't think this is the best time right now."
The third was Michael. The man whore who skipped to second base before asking me out. Of course though, with how desperate I was (and with hormones raging inside me) I agreed. At first I didn't think he was serious. He was a year younger than me. Skinnier, shorter, and incredibly charming.
You can hardly call that thing we had between us a relationship though. I only saw him on the bus before and after school. Even then we didn't talk. It's fun to flirt, but when you get the real deal, you aren't so giddy anymore. So what I had with Michael lasted - what? - four days before he broke up with me.
The fourth soon to be one of my best friends. Shawn. The one who makes me laugh, who has little quirks of his own.
And the one who is too fragile.