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Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series
One: Monday Mornings
I opened my eyes and the poster of Pink Floyd's prism was looking down at me from the ceiling. I rolled my eyes over to the alarm clock on my bedside table. I was out of time: I couldn't afford to fitfully catnap away another ten minutes. I looked at the ceiling again. I had to take just one more little minute to brace myself for the day ahead.
I hate Mondays and here is why:
1.) It's the start of an entire week of school. That's five days, 30 hours (give or take a few hours).
2.) I have jazz band practice after school. I hate being in the jazz band, but was forcefully inducted into the band. I was the only person they could find who could play a half decent bass guitar.
3.) On Mondays my father, Glenn, attempts cooking and invites his new girlfriend, Linda, over for dinner. Linda is okay I guess, it's just, you know, she is not my mother. The woman who used to be married to my father. And they were normal once, my mom and dad. They were married and normal and bickered in that old couple way.
And now they're divorced. Unfortunately, that's become an accepted, normal thing now. Maybe the only abnormality that's messing me up is me.
The fourth reason why I hate school, especially Mondays:
4.) Last week in this one-time, health class seminar, our teacher, Miss Burbank, accidentally read out my name after reading out my question to the attention of the entire class. It was supposed to be anonymous to the rest of the class. Since everyone thinks sex-ed/health class is one, big, horny joke, Miss Burbank had to think up ways of making sure we all participate. So she had us write our names down on the slip of paper with our question on it.
Oh and in addition to making sure everyone gets participation marks, having my name on the slip of paper with my question on it also gave Miss Burbank the means with which to unintentionally ruin my life.
My question?
"If you're engaging in intercourse, can a girl tell if you've never had sex before?"
I even used the freaking word "intercourse".
Now they all know that I, Robin Svetson, am a seventeen year old boy virgin. And I was paying for it those next three days, 18 hours, at school.
As if I didn't have enough problems being in stupid jazz band.
I hate Mondays and here is why:
1.) It's the start of an entire week of school. That's five days, 30 hours (give or take a few hours).
2.) I have jazz band practice after school. I hate being in the jazz band, but was forcefully inducted into the band. I was the only person they could find who could play a half decent bass guitar.
3.) On Mondays my father, Glenn, attempts cooking and invites his new girlfriend, Linda, over for dinner. Linda is okay I guess, it's just, you know, she is not my mother. The woman who used to be married to my father. And they were normal once, my mom and dad. They were married and normal and bickered in that old couple way.
And now they're divorced. Unfortunately, that's become an accepted, normal thing now. Maybe the only abnormality that's messing me up is me.
The fourth reason why I hate school, especially Mondays:
4.) Last week in this one-time, health class seminar, our teacher, Miss Burbank, accidentally read out my name after reading out my question to the attention of the entire class. It was supposed to be anonymous to the rest of the class. Since everyone thinks sex-ed/health class is one, big, horny joke, Miss Burbank had to think up ways of making sure we all participate. So she had us write our names down on the slip of paper with our question on it.
Oh and in addition to making sure everyone gets participation marks, having my name on the slip of paper with my question on it also gave Miss Burbank the means with which to unintentionally ruin my life.
My question?
"If you're engaging in intercourse, can a girl tell if you've never had sex before?"
I even used the freaking word "intercourse".
Now they all know that I, Robin Svetson, am a seventeen year old boy virgin. And I was paying for it those next three days, 18 hours, at school.
As if I didn't have enough problems being in stupid jazz band.