Sunday, May 22, 2011

Giggly Girl

My brother is still friends with a bunch of guys whom he’s known since elementary and high school.  When you’re a little sister with a big brother who has cool, attractive friends, there’s a good chance that at some point in time, let’s say - high school, the little sister may or may not develop crushes on those same cool, attractive friends.  In fact, I think there were a few Sweet Valley High books based upon this very premise.
I loved Sweet Valley High books.
When I was 15, I may or may not have had a teensy, little crush on one of my brother’s friends.  He may or may not have been dubbed Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love (HHBL) by either my dad or my uncle at some point during the crush-phase.  HHBL was two years older than me, in his senior year when I was a sophomore.  He was clean-cut, well-mannered, and played the oboe or sax or something in the Marching Band; which could very well explain my fondness, to this day, for pep rallies.  TEQUILA!
While the juniors and seniors had the Prom,* sophomores in my high school had the Soph Hop.  I guess it was a formal dance…it was certainly more formal than Homecoming.  Anyway, there I was with a huge crush on HHBL and my friend Emily Wilson, who was in Marching Band herself and equally crushing on a trombone or kazoo player, told me I had to take HHBL to the Soph Hop.  I’m pretty sure I giggled nervously and was like, not-unh!  Since my friends knew I certainly wasn’t going to ask him, they asked him for me.  Of course he said yes.  He’s one of the nicest guys on the planet and taking a friend’s little sister to her first formal dance is just something nice guys do.  I vividly remember being in Mr. Cooper’s Western Civ class when Emily Wilson came in and informed me that HHBL said yes, he’d take me to the Soph Hop.  I was like, Ohmigod, what?!  There’s no way I can talk to a boy!!!
On the night of the dance, I wore a black dress from the Limited (the most expensive item of clothing that I had ever worn at that point), there was awkward picture-taking, corsage-pinning, and everything else that happens at a dance.  (That would be dancing, by the way.)  There was, in fact, no dinner eating because there was no way in hell that I was sitting across a table where I would have to converse with a boy.  That would’ve been awkward and the occasion of much stupid giggling.  I was 15 people!  At the end of the night, he dropped me off and that was that. 
Cut to 17 years later.  On Saturday night, my mom had a surprise birthday party for my brother who turned 35 earlier this month.  Why she didn’t wait another five years until he turns 40 is beyond me but whatever.  Anyway, of course my brother’s friends came.  In addition to HHBL, there was Conshy and Very Obnoxious Friend.  I’ve seen them a couple of times over the years and I hear what’s going on in their lives through the grapevine…they’re all very responsible, very respectable, very married (except for Conshy**) Officers of the Law who keep the streets of various Pennsylvania towns safe.  We’ve all grown up and become adults.  Well, except for me, apparently.  Because I was like a stupid, giggly 15 year old girl around them.
I can talk to guys.  I talk to old guys, young guys, straight guys, gay guys, form-fitting shirt wearing guys.  I think, for the most part, I make sense when I talk to them; except for when I ramble a little…but then they just tell me to shut it and I’m fine.  I’m an International Traveler, I have a Very Expensive Masters Degree, I shop at the Gap, I can operate a lawn mower, and some days I think I’m half-way awesome.  I think I’m interesting and capable of saying interesting things. 

Last night, I couldn’t manage to string together a cohesive sentence to engage in conversation with my brother's friends.  I was back in Mr. Cooper’s Western Civ class all over again!  Ohmigod, I can’t talk to boys!!!  (Although, for the record, it didn’t help matters that my brother and Very Obnoxious Friend were embarrassing the heck out of me.)  
Later on in the night, as they discussed getting older, Conshy asked how old I was.  I admitted, haltingly, that I’m 32. 
Then I giggled like a nervous 15 year old.
*- Why do some people say “The Prom” and some people just say “Prom” 
**-I’m not sure but I think Conshy’s not married yet because he rides a scooter.

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