A Not-So-Fun Night

A while back, I blogged about an agonizing middle school memory, when my "boyfriend" ditched me because he thought I was "butt ugly." (Ugh. I still loathe that first word.)

Although that experience was by far the worst, I have some other humiliating (but funny!) stories to tell from that time in my life. Like this one...

When I was in sixth grade, I was a huge nerd. I had absolutely no friends. The problem was, my family had just moved to a new town, so I had to go to a new school where I knew no one. And that wouldn't be so bad, except it was sixth grade, which is when all of the elementary school graduates join together in one middle school. So the problem was, no one knew that I was the new girl. They just assumed that I came from some other school, so they weren't required to make me feel welcome.

That, and I was just a nerd.

There was one person who liked me, though, and his name was Tom. (That's not really his name. You know the drill.) I'll be honest, Tom was even nerdier than I was. His voice cracked, his clothes never matched, and he didn't appear to have bathed very much. So while I was flattered that he had a crush on me, the feeling wasn't mutual. No, I had my sights set on Pete the Popular Guy, who never noticed me. Well, he did notice me in eighth grade but I'll save that story for another time. It's a good one.

Back to sixth grade. Tom. Nerdiness.

Okay, so every once in a while our middle school would have what they called a Fun Night. It always took place on a Friday from 6:30-8:30 p.m. There were a number of things you could do at Fun Nights, like play basketball or ping pong. But the highlight of the event was a dance. A real dance with a real DJ and everything.

I have no idea why I went to Fun Nights that year. I didn't really have anyone to hang out with, and no one ever asked me to dance. But I was a dreamer, people. I clung to the optimistic belief that my fate could change in a single moment, and before I knew it, I could be livin' the high life. So I went to those dances, dang it, because Pete the Popular Guy just might notice me and I just might instantly transform into the most popular girl in school!

Or, I could stand by myself along the wall and eat nachos. Which is what I usually did, until one night when poor Tom stumbled up to me, fidgeting beyond belief, and said: "W-w-w-will you d-d-d-dance with me?" (He didn't have a stutter; he was that nervous.)

I absolutely did not want to dance with Tom. I thought it would ruin all of my chances with Pete the Popular Guy, or with any of the Popular People. But I looked at Tom and saw how nervous he was and how it must have been difficult for him to even talk to a girl, let alone ask her to dance. Plus, I wasn't doing anything anyway. So I said yes.

Everything was fine at first. We walked to the dance floor and assumed the slow-dancing position. But then, Tom panicked. As soon as my hands touched his shoulders, he must have thought he was doing it wrong or something—all of my life I will wonder what he was thinking at that moment—but he took his hands off of my waist and put them ON MY SHOULDERS. So we both had our hands on each other's shoulders, which was not only a jumbled, awkward mess, but we also looked like some sort of stiff, crazed Frankenstein couple.

I was so stinkin' nice back then and I didn't want to emasculate Tom, so I let him stay that way. FOR AN ENTIRE SONG. After awhile, people started to notice. I saw heads turning our way, I heard snickers, I watched my stupid optimistic beliefs fly out the window. But I stuck it out. And finally, after what seemed like ten hours, the song ended. Tom dropped his arms, said a quick "Thank you," and we went back to our respective positions on the wall.

I was mortified, but in a way it felt good to sacrifice my own humiliation so that Tom wouldn't be humiliated directly by me. And of course, in the end, my reputation was not completely demolished for all of eternity, even though that night I thought it would be.

But my goodness, if I ever have a son, the first thing I'm teaching the boy is how to slow dance.

Bill, Bobby, and that other B word

Because in my last post I was all braggin' about my aura, I am now going to indulge in a giant slice of Humble Pie. 

I mentioned in that post that my middle school years were rather awkward. And I've already told the story of the jerky track star who said I look funny when I run. That's just one of the many horror stories from my adolescent attempts at love. 

But the one I'm about to tell takes the cake.

When I was in 7th grade, my friend Tara was "going with" a boy named Bill. (Which reminds me, did anyone else call it "going with"? It seems the more people I talk to, the more I find that that term might have been unique to my particular school at that particular time. It also sounds like something my grandmother would say.)

Anyway, one day Tara and Bill came up with a brilliant idea to set me up with their friend Bobby. This is how that "set-up" transpired...

Tara [on the phone with Bill] to me: Hey, do you want to go with Bobby?

Me: Who's Bobby?

Tara: Bill's friend.

Me: Oh. Yeah, sure.

Tara [to Bill]: She said she'll go with him.

Tara then handed me the phone so I could talk to my new boyfriend for the first time in my life.

Later that week, the four of us went to the movies, where Bobby and I finally met in person. About 10 minutes into the movie, Bobby got out of his seat. I assumed that he was going to the bathroom, but nearly a half hour passed and he was still gone. I leaned over and asked Bill to go check on Bobby and make sure he was okay. I was such a good girlfriend.

A few minutes later Bill came back, without Bobby. 

"So is he okay?" I asked.

"Huh?," Bill said. "Oh yeah, he's fine."

"Then what's he doing?" I asked.

"Oh, he doesn't wanna go with you no more. He thinks you're butt ugly."

That's right... Butt. Ugly. Not just ugly! No, Bill couldn't spare me the agony of hearing that other word, which is a word I happen to hate with a passion, and which at that moment was a word being used to describe ME!

As you can imagine, the damage from that experience lingered for a long time. I became obsessed with dropping the "butt" and working my way up to just "ugly." And maybe someday even "pretty," but I didn't really think that was possible, considering the horrible insult I'd received. 

Man, were those middle school years brutal. Thank goodness I learned how to survive the blows, only to come out stronger in the end. That's why I can now look back and poke fun of those moments. I have plenty more funny/embarrassing stories to tell from that period in my life, so stay tuned.