Thursday, March 8, 2012

Dear Spring, 
Please come quickly and fill my heart with sunshine and rainbows. 
Love, Me

So, I went on a date with my "cousin" last week. Originally, if you recall, I wasn't sure whether to spring the news on him that we were probably related right at our introduction, or casually over dinner. In the end, it came out during an awkward pause in between our initial meeting and sitting down to eat. I couldn't help it- as much as I enjoy awkward pauses, I had to fill the void and, "We're related," was all I could come up with. 

 Now, I'm actually a pretty good conversationalist, but when it comes to small talk and/or flirting, I'm really terrible. My mother and my sister have tried to educate me in the art of flirtation, but I fail them. I would rather be straight forward and invest in a substantial conversation- small talk just makes me uncomfortable. It probably goes back to my childhood when I was obsessed with Space Camp and rollerblading. While my sister was playing Barbies and learning how to be coy with Ken, I was outside climbing trees or racing my bike down the big hill by our house. I loved being outside. I was not a girly-girl; I was a tom-boy and proud of it. Oddly, I think it was my job working as a gardener that finally made me realize how much I actually do like being a girly-girl. 

I spent a couple years in college working on the grounds crew. It was by far my favorite job- I got to be outside all day, had a sweet farmers tan, and it was socially acceptable to get filthy dirty. In a word, it was awesome. However, after a long day stuck in my dirt-and-sweat caked jeans and t-shirt, all I'd want to do when I got home was jump out of the grunge and just feel pretty. So I'd take a shower, do my hair and makeup, and put something cute on, despite the fact that it was very late in the afternoon and I probably wasn't even going anywhere. I just wanted to feel like a girl.

Fast forward a couple of years, and most of my closet is made up of skirts and dresses. I love them. Pants are so overrated. And so are unpolished nails. 

In a nutshell, "we're related," is probably not the best conversation starter, if you need a laugh just ask me to try flirting with someone, and in an attempt to make up for my lost years as a tom-boy, I own something like, a dozen dresses and 18 skirts. Word. 


1 comment:

  1. As always, you can simultaneously set my heart alight with laughter and break it with longing. I love you through each and every passionate phase of your remarkable life.