So, if dating is like a big game of kickball, I am consistently playing in the outfield.
Yeah, I'm that girl, standing way way way away from the action, who is constantly pushing up her glasses and chewing on a renegade hangnail. I occasionally have skinned knees.
So, when the ball gets kicked in my direction, I'm likely to flail my arms wildly - once I realize the ball's headed straight for me - and run in a zig zag pattern as though I were attempting to escape an alligator attack. But not because I want to escape a date.
It just, you know, catches me off guard and my initial reaction is to panic. Mostly because I know nothing about boys. I know TONS about relationships. I just don't anything about boys.
Regardless, I got asked out on a date today.
I. Did. Not. See. This. Ball. Coming.
Luckily, it was via e-mail so he couldn't see A) my sinus-infected moon face complemented by two sinus-infection caused black eyes or B) me running in a zig zag pattern, flailing my arms and yelling "Big Arms! Big Arms!"
So, I'm going on a date. But not until I stop looking and feeling like I was on the losing end of a prize fight. And, if there's an alligator attack in the mean time, I'll have practiced.
No, really. I swear. I'm 40. My birthday certificate and my mother say so.
And now, because I can, this picture came across Facebook today and I had to share it.
I subsequently sent it to Lex and asked him if he had anything he and Vinny wanted to tell me. *ahem*