In the 2nd Grade there was a boy who routinely pushed me over and called me "Moron Madde". It sorta made me sad. One day on the school field trip to the History Museum, he took me inside the life-size Wigwam Tipi and kissed me directly on my face region. Apparently he liked me. It was a surprise. It was a gross. It was surprisingly gross.
Girls are told as children that if he hits you or calls you names, that's only because he likes you. Sometimes that's true, but what a ridiculous thing to teach the young girls of the world, "Don't worry, girly...some day you'll realize how lucky you are that a man even talks to you at all, let alone push you down on the ground and call you an idiot! Enjoy it while it lasts..."
Those crazy, effed-up messages from my youth must have seeped in somewhere in my being, because today I realized something alarming! When it comes to matters of love, I've sorta become a 9-year old boy! AH! RUN!
Let me give you a run-down of the sitch today: A seemingly normal afternoon progresses, then cute man approaches. We've never met before. He is there meeting with my friend to go over some very official-looking paperwork. They are giggling. I'm awkwardly standing on the side. My friend gestures for me to come over. I stumble over, eyes glazed with attraction intrigue, also, this can't be verified, but surely drool dripped from my face. Cute man: Smiles. Me: "Who the eff is this person? I've never seen you before...you have something on your face..over it!" I proceed to ignore him the whole time.
Apparently this afternoon, I thought I would win this poor fellow's heart through a series of insults! I'm sure if he had been a tad closer to me I would have pushed him down into the gravel and found the nearest pile of dog poo to shove up his nose...You know, because that's what you do when you like someone! Today I lived up to my childhood name, "Moron Madde".
Had today been an isolated incident, it wouldn't be cause for concern, but this seems to be a habit for ol' "Moron Madde". Without getting into gory deets, I was recently told by a gentleman caller that I had a biting tongue...and not in a hot way. Apparently my blunt observations about the way he lived his life weren't sugar-coated enough for him. So either I'm just super observant and good at pointing things out, or I'm a meanie-pants. Woopsies! My bad! Guess this habit is gonna be a hard one to breaksies.
9-year old boys insult other 9-year old girls because they are nervous that their affection will not be reciprocated, or their love will ruin their rep on the playground as a badass. The 9-year old boy stuck inside of me...(wait..nope..can't say that.....let's try that again.....ummm...)....My newest bad habit is caused from those same fears and insecurities shared with the male peers of my youth. If I show my cards of affection right up top, there's a chance he will go running in the opposite direction of my own personal jungle gym...and that would make me sad.
When faced with an age-appropriate gentleman caller, I shall try and say something nice from now on. There is a chance my badass reputation on the playground of life may precede me, but hopefully word hasn't gotten out yet! :) See ya on the swings!
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