3.02.2013

Elementary School & Boys

They say that everything you need to learn about life, you can learn in elementary school.

Well...I don't know about EVERYTHING (elementary school did not teach me about how frustrating my Structures course would be), but in first grade, I learned that boys were freaking weird. And this is still true. You see, I think I had the most game in elementary school. This look was really killing it for me:

(The teef, the red vest, and the hair scrunchy that is about to fall out... I'm damn irresistible).
I swear, I don't think I will ever be able to beat the number of boys who "liked" me during those 5 years. It wasn't that I had a million prepubescent boys pursuing me, but compared to my current numbers (z.e.r.o)...any number seems infinitely more.

In the age of recess and handball, the only way you ever knew if anyone liked you was from the mouth of somebody else. It was a cruel world of telephone...one kid running from the grass field to the swings, taking a breath before cupping her hands around your ear and whispering "Hannah told Ashley who told Jessica who told me that Matt likes you." E-mail, Twitter, and Facebook, may have made the exchange of information almost instantaneous, but nothing beats the velocity of a 7 year old kid with juicy gossip.

So amongst all this, one particular boy stood out from all the rest. I think it would be impolite to disclose his name, so let's just call him Bevin Kernstein. Bevin Kernstein was the rebel child. He usually wore jeans with a plain white tee and sometimes, he would take off his shirt to reveal his wife beater tank just to show everyone who's boss. I knew Bevin from sitting next to him in class, but every so often, my teacher would rearrange the assigned seating to break up any gangs that had formed. Bevin and I went our separate ways, and got placed on opposite sides of the room. So you would understand my surprise, when one day, I came back from Lunchtime with a folded note on my desk that said "For You." I cautiously opened the note to find a $1 dollar bill and a message.

Miranda,
I like you. Do you like me?
_ Yes
_ No
_ Maybe
(please check one)
Bevin

I was shocked. I can't remember all the things that went through my head, but I imagine it was something like this:
I dont like Bevin..he scares me with his wife beaters. Wait, but there's a dollar...so perhaps I do like him. Wait wait no. I'm worth more than this dollar. Whyyy is there a dollar IN HERE? Is this note even for me? (Checks note...sees own name). Hmmm, okay, this is for me. DEAR GOD WHAT DO I DO?!

After all my brain neurons had finished firing, I came up with a plan of action. I decided that I was a classy lady and could not be bought with the dollar bill. I would return the dollar because it is impolite to just take money while also avoiding the dreaded question, "do you like me." Paralyzed with fear, I thought I would go with a minamalist approach and simply write "Yours?" in OBVIOUS reference to the dollar bill. It was a genius response because I avoided checking any boxes & signing my life away, but addressed the MORE important issue: to whom this dollar belonged to. I returned the new note to HIS desk before he got back, and carried on with my life.

Little did I know, later on in the day, while we were working on our Sioux Native Americans project, Jill runs over to me, asking if I liked Bevin. WHAT? 

I was in disbelief...I asked Jill to explain further.
"Bevin told me you left a note on his desk saying, "Am I Yours""
WHAT THE WHAT?!

Panicked, I tried to clarify to Jill..."No No, I didn't write AM I yours....I just wrote "Yours?"..because, you see, Bevin left a dollar on my desk and I was wondering if it was His."
Jill didn't believe my story and all of a sudden I felt like I was wearing a scarlet letter on my chest.

To this day, I never knew what happened to that note. Why Kevin..I mean Bevin, sabotaged my note. Who that dollar belonged to. And why Jill had to get involved.

This is what I do know: I know NOW to write my intention clearly, (I should have written: "IS THIS DOLLAR YOURS? PLEASE DONT TRY TO BUY ME. THAT IS CALLED HUMAN TRAFFICKING. NO GOOD, KEVIN, NO GOOD"). And I know to never trust a boy. Because...the moment you try to do something nice, like return a precious dollar, some little weiner tries to save his reputation at the cost of yours and make you look like an adulterer.

& my dear friends, this is the life lesson of the day.



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