"Man is the only animal that blushes -- or needs to."
Mark Twain
The other day I was standing in line, waiting to order a Subway sandwich. The line was long, and I was lost in deep thought, probably solving world poverty or developing a cure for AIDS. Ok, ok. So I was deciding what to wear the next day. But HE didn't know that. Yes, someone of the opposite sex actually talked to me. It's become somewhat of a foreign concept these days, since I spend my time either farting with my roommates or in the library glued to my homework. So this day was, indeed, a day for my journal. Unfortunately, the short exchange did not end in a marriage proposal like I was hoping. It did not even end in a "Hey, I lost my number...can I have yours?" (Yes, I was asked that once at the skating rink. It was epic.) In fact, not only did none of that come to pass, but I wish none of it had even happened. Allow me to elaborate:
For those who see me in my good AND bad moments, they know I get red like a juicy, juicy tomato too easily. If it's really bad, I may even decide to break out into hives. I love it. So today was merely just a manifestation of what I have come to define as a disorder -- blushing. As I mentioned, I was lost deep in thought waiting for my sandwich. Suddenly the guy in front of me turns around and asks, "How's your Thursday going?" Still thinking about how I could pair my brown boots with my gray pair of jeans (is that even okay??), I didn't immediately register that Friendly Guy was talking to ME. When I realized that he was staring straight at me like he was waiting for something, I shoved my thoughts of stripper boots to the burner and managed to open my mouth. "Not bad," I replied, smiling, trying to pull off at least some shred of evidence that I really was at least somewhat normal. I feared that in my lack of realizing he was speaking to me, my trademark dumb look was showing (mouth hanging open, drool dripping down, eyes unresponsive). At this point I could feel my face starting to flush. I hoped with all the stars in the sky that he would suddenly get really interested in what he wanted to eat (I hear the grilled chicken is real good!) and turn around so I wouldn't be forced to face him with my rapidly ripening tomato plant called my cheeks. But no. This kid was relentless. "Oh yeah?" he asked. What kind of answer was he expecting to that? Do I say "Yeah" in response? The cold cut trio is ravishing --- TURN AROUND! "Yeah," I finally replied, and deciding to add a little more depth to the conversation than an exchange that mere ostriches could have with each other, I added, "I have a class tonight...just fueling up!" He claimed to have a night class, too, probably thinking that this fact alone would bring us together in holy matrimony. Despite the fact that I was definitely NOT attracted to Friendly Guy, I could still feel my cheeks burning. I couldn't pull it together. "What class do you have?" he asked. My face was on fire. Do you know how it is to blush, and then to realize that the person in front of you notices that you are blushing, which only makes you blush even more out of embarrassment for blushing? I didn't want him to think I was blushing because a BOY was talking to ME (seriously...I just wanted my veggie delight!). With all of this going through my head, I drew a blank as to what class I had, which only caused me to flare up even more. Naturally, I thought that if bent down to escape his intrusive stare for just 2 seconds, I could pull myself together and drain the natural color back into cheeks. "Hold on," I told him, still having not answered his question. I reached down to fix my pant leg, which obviously needed no fixing, and then stood back up. First of all, who pauses mid answer to fix a pant leg? And second, last time I did a headstand against a wall, all the the blood rushed to my head and turned my face scarlet red. WHAT WAS I THINKING bending my head down to fix the problem? Instead it only fueled the fire. Straightening up, going on purple now, I finally choked out, "International Health." He just stood there looking at me. "Are you alright?" he asked. Oh for Pete's sake, call the mountains upon me and bury me alive. Or just go order your stupid sandwich! Meatball is a great choice, too! "Yeah," I replied, "just a little warm is all." He nodded and turned his back to me, finally remembering his original purpose of being at Subway. He ordered a BLT -- no tomato. When he paid for his sandwich, he looked back at me as I was deep in thought once again over which cookie to add to my value meal. I could see my still bright red reflection in the clear cookie display case. I didn't look at him. Finally he walked off to enjoy his dinner, probably meeting up with someone who could manage to say a few more words than "yeah" and "hold on." I left Subway and walked to a table by myself, my face still burning in embarrassment.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm single. Moments like the other day, however, leave very little room for any doubt.
Maybe I should try Taco Bell on Tuesday, instead.
For those who see me in my good AND bad moments, they know I get red like a juicy, juicy tomato too easily. If it's really bad, I may even decide to break out into hives. I love it. So today was merely just a manifestation of what I have come to define as a disorder -- blushing. As I mentioned, I was lost deep in thought waiting for my sandwich. Suddenly the guy in front of me turns around and asks, "How's your Thursday going?" Still thinking about how I could pair my brown boots with my gray pair of jeans (is that even okay??), I didn't immediately register that Friendly Guy was talking to ME. When I realized that he was staring straight at me like he was waiting for something, I shoved my thoughts of stripper boots to the burner and managed to open my mouth. "Not bad," I replied, smiling, trying to pull off at least some shred of evidence that I really was at least somewhat normal. I feared that in my lack of realizing he was speaking to me, my trademark dumb look was showing (mouth hanging open, drool dripping down, eyes unresponsive). At this point I could feel my face starting to flush. I hoped with all the stars in the sky that he would suddenly get really interested in what he wanted to eat (I hear the grilled chicken is real good!) and turn around so I wouldn't be forced to face him with my rapidly ripening tomato plant called my cheeks. But no. This kid was relentless. "Oh yeah?" he asked. What kind of answer was he expecting to that? Do I say "Yeah" in response? The cold cut trio is ravishing --- TURN AROUND! "Yeah," I finally replied, and deciding to add a little more depth to the conversation than an exchange that mere ostriches could have with each other, I added, "I have a class tonight...just fueling up!" He claimed to have a night class, too, probably thinking that this fact alone would bring us together in holy matrimony. Despite the fact that I was definitely NOT attracted to Friendly Guy, I could still feel my cheeks burning. I couldn't pull it together. "What class do you have?" he asked. My face was on fire. Do you know how it is to blush, and then to realize that the person in front of you notices that you are blushing, which only makes you blush even more out of embarrassment for blushing? I didn't want him to think I was blushing because a BOY was talking to ME (seriously...I just wanted my veggie delight!). With all of this going through my head, I drew a blank as to what class I had, which only caused me to flare up even more. Naturally, I thought that if bent down to escape his intrusive stare for just 2 seconds, I could pull myself together and drain the natural color back into cheeks. "Hold on," I told him, still having not answered his question. I reached down to fix my pant leg, which obviously needed no fixing, and then stood back up. First of all, who pauses mid answer to fix a pant leg? And second, last time I did a headstand against a wall, all the the blood rushed to my head and turned my face scarlet red. WHAT WAS I THINKING bending my head down to fix the problem? Instead it only fueled the fire. Straightening up, going on purple now, I finally choked out, "International Health." He just stood there looking at me. "Are you alright?" he asked. Oh for Pete's sake, call the mountains upon me and bury me alive. Or just go order your stupid sandwich! Meatball is a great choice, too! "Yeah," I replied, "just a little warm is all." He nodded and turned his back to me, finally remembering his original purpose of being at Subway. He ordered a BLT -- no tomato. When he paid for his sandwich, he looked back at me as I was deep in thought once again over which cookie to add to my value meal. I could see my still bright red reflection in the clear cookie display case. I didn't look at him. Finally he walked off to enjoy his dinner, probably meeting up with someone who could manage to say a few more words than "yeah" and "hold on." I left Subway and walked to a table by myself, my face still burning in embarrassment.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm single. Moments like the other day, however, leave very little room for any doubt.
Maybe I should try Taco Bell on Tuesday, instead.
2 comments:
I prefer the smoked ham and...hold on a sec, I have to fix my pants.
hahahahahahahahahahaha. this is the best thing ever! oh man. I love moments like that--I mean, I hate them but I love them... because at least I know I'm not alone :) hahahahahahaha.
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