When I was much younger I was scared of talking to girls. I would be a jabbering wreck unable to get my words out. I wouldn’t be able to walk straight and would sweat profusely when around them. These days I call that excessive alcohol intake. Fortunately, I am no longer scared of girls. Although I was once given the advice that just like public speaking, when you talk to them, imagine they are naked and it will be easier to talk to them and they appear less scary. I cant tell you how much of a lie that was. Trying to not touch yourself when your a teenager talking to a girl you really like…well, it isn’t so easy. I stopped the imagining they were naked thing soon after I started due to…well…it doesn’t matter.
But those years passed and with renewed confidence, I would be all go no quit “hey ladies!” Except that with my new found confidence came abstract failure. These included:
While walking down the road, I spied in the distance a very pretty girl. When I say spied, I don’t mean I had binoculars…I wasn’t some kind of perv. OK look…by “wasn’t” I don’t mean I am now. God this is hard to explain without you taking it the wrong way. Anyway, I was having a super-confident “the girls love me” day so I crossed the road in her direction and started to strut. I guess the strut was the 1980s to early 90s version of that ridiculous walk young blokes do now where it looks like they have one leg longer than another. I swaggered my way, making eye contact…holding that eye contact…gave a cheeky smile.
And being the 80s, dog owners didn’t clean up after their animals. And some large animal had left a huge steaming great turd on the floor.
And I in one deft move…bang on with my foot.
I carried on walking. Tail between my legs. Heart in my throat. Well aware that my shoe was now a showcase for reasons to limit disease in the world. I just didn’t see it coming. That is why I no longer make eye contact when I talk to people…what if there is a hidden dirty great dog turd hiding around the corner?
Then there was the time that I started off really confident. And then I ran out of things to say. But I was trying so hard. And I started to repeat pretty much everything she said. And then she asked me if I was a little retarded.
And it went on and on. There was a time…I think I was about 11 or 12. This girl got on the train. Started to talk to me. I just didn’t know what to do. She was older than me. Super confident. I had less cool than Peewee Herman. So after she asked me a question I said “Guess how old I am”. Why? WHY!?!?!?! I don’t know why.
I would just be clumsy around girls. Pass them a drink? Nope…practically throw it at them. Give them a hand moving something? Nope. Break something. Mess around and threaten to pick them up? Nope…actually dropped one on her head.
The ground never opened up and swallowed me back then. But it is all better now. Girls aren’t scary. Even the pretty ones.
Well, until a few days ago when a familiar issue came up.
I was being all macho and moving the fridge. It was in a very tight spot and because it is a fridge that is a little overweight, I couldn’t get my arms around it. So I got on the floor and pulled from the bottom of it. All was going well. Remarkably well. Especially when I think how crap I am at doing things well. But then one of the feet got caught. It wouldn’t move. So I decided a little brute force was the way forward. So I did. With a massive yank….the freezer door came open and smashed me right on the bridge of the nose.
As I sat there, eyes streaming and having that familiar “I think I am about to see blood” feeling, I called out to my girlfriend and in a pitiful voice said “I just whacked myself on the nose”. Her response was “You ok?” and never came to my rescue. I sat there for a few minutes while I regained full conciousness and thought “There is a disturbance in the force”. I slowly stood up. I looked around. There were no pretty girls. Nor not so pretty girls (that’s polite for ugly). But there were a couple of packets of grapes that I had not seen before.
I am worried I may be getting the symptoms of Sitophilia. Google it.
OK fine. Don’t. It is basically people who want intimate relations with fruit.
I just cant see another reason why it happened. I haven’t been able to look at the grapes since.
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