Friday, July 19, 2013

Lucy Gets Cold Feet

In which Christine makes a dirty joke, Lucy doesn't get it, and we all laugh.

... We all laugh.

Table of Contents.

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It’s not that I dislike confrontation, though I abhor it; I’m just a wuss. Christine once told a guy I was trying to get the nerve up to ask out that I was a Grade A pussy, which she seemed to get a kick out of. I’m a wimp and a push over, but it is just wrong to call someone else those things. She just laughed at me. I sulked in my room until she brought me ice cream.

But now, as the guy in charge was asking everyone to take their seats, I was starting to realize that maybe I should have embraced my wimpiness. There’s a whole book series about a diary of a wimpy kid, isn’t there? Though, it probably isn’t about coming to terms with one’s inner wimp. I never read it; I assume it is like all loser stories, where the losers turn out to be winners, in the end. Through the power of friendship and pluck.

I’m plucky. If I ever had to be the lead in a movie, the description would be: “Plucky girl. Hollywood Homely.” It would probably include “quirky.” And “she cleans up pretty.” Also, I would hope that they find a relatively no-name girl to play me. I would want to be someone’s break-out role.

So, anyway, there I was dejectedly at the table with Fiona, the pony-tailed mechanic, and Christine.

“Kenny was boring me. He doesn’t know how to hold his pinkie during high tea. Plus, you looked lonely,” She said when she took the seat next to me. “Also: This table gets served earlier.”

“You’re not having tea.”

“The point is that he doesn’t do very well pretending to be snobby. Also, all they’re talking about is bowling,” She said. “‘We could serve chili cheese nachos,’ ‘That’s a loss leader,’ ‘Is that like the winner of the losers?’ It’s so banal.”

“I see someone’s been updating the word of the day calendar.”

“Banal is the most disappointing word your calendar has ever taught me,” She said. “I thought it meant bad ass for the longest time. Now I know that my literature teacher didn’t like anything I wrote.”

“I’m sorry Christine. Want to know what would make you really happy?”

“Booze? Money? Puppies?”

“Pulling the fire alarm before Jon’s speech. It’s my new idea for revenge.”

“Your new idea sounds like a way of wussing out of your old idea. Vetoed.” We sat in silence for a bit, as we both pretended to be very intrigued by Fiona talking about when she might get around to meeting Mortimer’s parents.

“I’m going to go talk to Sam,” I said.

“Do you have some insights into Bowltopia?” Christine asked. “It’s a portmanteau of bowl and utopia.”

“I’m taking away my word of the day calendar.”

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