Exhibit A: Once during youth group, we were playing this game where everyone writes a name down on a small piece of paper. It can be anyone–real or not real, usually it’s someone famous. You have two teams. I have no idea what the name of this game is, but there are three rounds. The first round you can say anything you want to get your teammates to guess the name. You go through all the names, put them back in the hat/bucket/bowl and in the second round, you have to act out the person charades-style (which really just means no words). The third round you are only allowed to say one word. I am not the best at describing the rules of games (just ask any of the teens from said youth group), so hopefully that makes sense. If it doesn’t make sense, that’s alright because this is a lot of background for what is about to be a short story.
It was the first round of the game. It was boys against girls. The person giving the clues simply said this: “Has great hair.” So, naturally, I shouted:
Yes, shouted. The room was quiet, and I was loud. (I play to win, apparently.)
Now, I don’t even watch The Voice, and I don’t go out of my way to listen to Maroon 5. I have never considered myself an Adam Levine fan. But apparently my subconscious speaks louder than my usual introverted-think-before-I-speak self.
This probably says a great deal about me.
Exhibit B: There has been a party in the works for a while now. At first it was going to be after harvest, but now it’s been pushed back later. It will hopefully take place within the next month. When I hear that a party will take place in December, my mind automatically goes to–like every sane person’s mind should–what Christmas sweater will I wear?
Now, this party has some motives behind it. It happens to be a party when I am hopefully supposed to meet one of the only eligible bachelors left in the entire state of North Dakota. (I might be exaggerating, but I also might not be.) I hesitate in saying too much because if that certain man fellow happens to happen upon this, this could be an embarrassing artifact of how ridiculous I am. But, internet, I am an open book. Also this is what happens when I have words but no one around to listen to my rambling.
While pondering over which of my Christmas sweaters I’ll wear, I lean over and ask my mom for her opinion, even though I have pretty much already decided on wearing my Grandma’s old sweater. It is green and has red poinsettias on it. I think it also has some Christmas bells. I’m imagining what Christmas earrings I’ll wear with it when my mom tells me if I am trying to impress a guy I might actually scare him away if I wear a Christmas sweater. Nonsense, I think.
Still, I ask my friend if it’d be weird to wear a Christmas sweater. She tells me, “Well, it’s not like it is going to be an ugly sweater party, so you’ll probably be the only one wearing a Christmas sweater.”
In the car I tell my mom it’d be impossible to see me in a Christmas sweater and not think of how fun I am. I mean, right? Or, at the very least, how well I will age into a grandma by rocking grandma sweaters already. And, honestly, shouldn’t we be thinking about the long-term when it comes to relationships? Also, wouldn’t it be great to figure out right from the get-go whether or not someone can handle my awesome?
Exhibit C: The only time I’ve ever won a game of Apples to Apples was while playing with a bunch of junior high girls. Interpret that how you will.
If none of those are good reasons, I will bring snacks. Probably some sort of baked goods.
And this is why you should invite me to your next party.