This morning, I rose at 730 which felt like 830 because of Daylight Savings or whatever. I had gone to bed around one, so you must know something was troubling me if I woke up only a few hours later. I felt super-dirty in the morning, so I took the most thorough shower I’ve ever taken in my life and used a fucking lot of soap. I scrubbed my hair well, too. I even got my back, which I almost never get. And my feet. When I got out of the shower, I lotioned up my legs and feet and hands really well, which is also something I never do because I hate the feeling of lotion; it makes my hands and feet feel like they’re drowning. I reeked of soap, shampoo, and lotion. Then I washed my face. It wasn’t the hardest I’ve ever washed my face; it was second only to the time we arrived home from Lewisburg the last time. Whenever I feel like absolute crap, I go to extra precautions to make myself clean and pretty, because it’s just a self esteem lift. You can tell when I’m feeling down because that’s when I look my best.
When I scrubbed my feet visciously, though, I couldn’t help but think of the movie “Harriet the Spy,” when little Harriet angrily scrubs the friendship symbol from the bottom of her foot, erasing her bond with Janie and Sport.
(No matter what you think of that movie, it’s one of my favourites of all time. It’s very nineties, and it reminds me a lot of the Lehigh Valley. I’ve seen it countless times. Thus, the title for this post is a quote from the movie…duh.)
I think I was erasing my actions from the previous night. I was flirtatious. A kiss was expected by someone from me, and I didn’t give, because how awkward would it have been…?! I suppose this is why I often fish in the pool of younger men. I, myself, never had any way of fulfilling middle school crushes. You can ask why, and the answer is that I was not cute. At all. Remotely. Kids used to mock me, even. I weighed more than I do now. But in missing out on that, I also missed out on having a mindless, pointless, forgettable first kiss. Everyone automatically assumes that I’m average, so I must have kissed someone by this point. But no, now I’m past my prime, an old maid, and I have to think about it every time I get into something that might involve kissing. Boys as friends, parties, stupid games like truth or dare. And you should know I’m not some frolicking lamb, but maybe I’m just too nervous and picky. Maybe a kiss really isn’t as memorable as they say it is.
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