I despise winter. I would be totally okay with it just being fall and skipping winter all together, aside from maybe a light snow on Christmas day. Snow storms always wreck the one event on my social calendar that I am the most looking forward to, then the snow turns to slush and wrecks my cheap flats and the cold wind blows right through my thirty dollar Old Navy sale coat.
But today is one of nostalgia. Fall is in the air, and I am transfixed by the beautiful landscape as the leaves change their colors. It reminds me of hot chocolate and bonfires, hoodies, stale candy corns left over from Halloween, and gearing up for those terrible holiday visits with certain extended family. Ah, good times. It's just such a wonderful time of year. Since I am in the mood for reminiscing, I decided to have a throwback post to one of my favorite embarrassing moments of all time. Perhaps its a fav because I was in my horrific preteen/puberty stage and I have since had time to heal.
It all took place on a fall day similar to this one, and of course it wouldn't be a wonderful embarrassing moment without, you guessed it, a boy. Those turds always show up for those times where you literally want to smother yourself with a throw pillow and everyone else because it's just too terrible to bear and yet, you still have to. My friend suggested this idea when we were kids that guys should just live in their own society underground, completely set apart from females until the disgusting middle school metamorphosis has run its course. It's both freaky and brilliant.
His name is Payton Radley, the guy that literally every girl and their mom had a crush on, or in my case? An obsession. He had perfect wavy hair, a muscular, tall build, pearly whites and a smile that slayed everyone. I say all of that in the past tense because although he is cute-ish presently, the years haven't exactly done him well; that was when he was in his prime. He has uncanny athletic ability and he was very focused on baseball and nothing else. Girls, especially dumb ones like I wasss...well whatever. We will go with was, were definitely not on his radar.
Ethel Larkin, poop brown hair, cut all the same length, braces, boy/lesbian-esque style, and boobs I had no idea how to properly holster so they were just kind of...there. My athletic ability is limited, but I try to make the most out of it. The part that kills me every time is the pre-game trash talk that I fail to live up to when its time to play the actual game. I get to flirting, which means I tell them I'm going to beat their asses in the game cause I'm awesome, blah blah blah. But like in a hot Lara Croft kind of way, trying to act impressive and tough, and the guys just eat that shit up! The real issue is when you go to play and you can't actually live up to the high expectations you set about yourself for everyone else by being a cocky liar face and making yourself out to be a kick-ass bitch like Lara. But in the end you just look like a bitch. That lives in her own fantasy world where she is good at athletic things. That she sucks at in reality here on earth. Dumb.
Okay, but I'm getting ahead of myself! So I'm at this park with a large co-ed group of awkward middle school kids, which let's be real, was the most exciting thing EVER because a) it meant being free of my parents for a little while, and b) I was ready to step up my game and I was sure I would win Payton's heart. So as it usually goes in sixth grade, the girls went off to the swings to be away from the boys and the boys started picking players for their baseball game. I boldly announced that I was playing, which raised a few eyebrows but no one contested. I was jovial as I ran to join up with my teammates that were gearing up to bat first. P.S. I don't actually know anything about baseball, so for those of you that may be reading this and are awesome and know all of the correct terrminology, etc. please do not be offended by my crude retelling of the game details. Just a heads up.
Payton was pitching, using those sinewy arms to pitch lightning, Zeus-like..uh, throws at those that were batting. My turn came, and I stepped up to the plate. I was for sure exuding a vibe that said "I am a pro". Payton gave me a quick little side smile before straightening up and getting ready to let the ball loose on me. Man that sounded dirty. You know what I meant. I felt a little thrill as I hit the ball and it actually went where it was supposed to go, which must have been a result of my positive thinking or a pure miracle since I have no idea how to use a bat.
Did I previously mention that I was wearing a dress? Nope, don't think I did. Why? WHY? That's what you're thinking. I know I said my style was butch then so I don't really have much of an explanation for my wardrobe choice that day. I'm sure it was ugly, and I probably was trying to be like a hot tomboy kind of person or something. So I hit the ball and it came crashing down somewhere further out in the field. I took my time running to first, soaking in the pure joy of success. A little premature. As I made my way to second base, I felt my stomach sink. Plunk. I totally just tripped over my feet, and landed flat on the ground, right in front of second base. Like two inches from there actually. But I was so horrified I couldn't even move! Everyone got kind of quiet, aside from the few punks snickering to the person next to them. No. NO. Oh my god, no. My dress was over my head, my bum in my skeevy underwear just out for the world to see. That is worse than wearing bad panties and having a car accident and everyone in the ambulance having to see your wretched drawers. Side note: that is something I literally think of before I put on my underwear almost every morning. Same with shaving my legs.
So there I am in all my glory, bum out for all to see, laying there paralyzed with shame and horror. Payton was just staring at me, with an amused look on his face. Is he laughing? He took his good old time walking towards me with the ball in his hand, drawing out the humiliation and he completely enjoyed it, I could tell. He slowly bent over me, staring at the ground almost as if he couldn't look at me. But then he got right in my face and smiled, and then tagged me with the ball and sauntered off back to the pitchers mound. He didn't even help me up that douche! I still loved him, but come on. He could have helped me out. Anyways, I picked myself up and pulled the skirt of my dress down to its rightful place and made my way back to my team. After a minute or so, I called, as if in response to the girls nearby, "What Lou Ann? Okay, I'm coming!" At least I left with my dignity still in tact.