Old High School Hottie

So I run across this really nice guy I knew in High School. You know the one...the guy that was really cute, that played in football and was voted one of the cutest guys in the school. Yep, that would be the one. And of course, I had a crush on him. Not the my-world-will-end-if-you-don't-love-me crush, but the damn-he's-hot crush. So he recognizes me...which I don't know if that is compliment or not, and asks how I am doing. A nice, benign question. Sure.... I then regress into that tongue-tied adolescent with no self-confidence, which is pretty lame. But then it couples with (I shit you not) a menopausal sweating episode, but the cherry on the cake, I can't seem to form a coherent word. OH SHIT!

And there standing next to him is his lovely wife (as in she's really pretty and freaking tall) with their lovely children. God, help me! This is why I don't go to class reunions. It's like going to your Mother's house, no matter how old you are or how long you have lived on your own, Mom is mom and you are her kid.

To make matters worse, they are really nice. So I start to feel guilty for my lustful thoughts and my sweating gets worse. I end up grabbing a handful of napkins to mop my forehead and the drips that are sliding down my face as I try to maintain a conversation that doesn't make me look psychotic. As I am waving my hands madly to punctuate my conversation, I hit their toddler's stroller. I so thought I hit their daughter. What the hell is wrong with me? I look down expecting to see her crying and all it is was the handles on the stroller. Whoosh, I am so relieved. So what do I do you ask? I pat the stroller, a nice loving couple of pats. What a freak I am. I back away so I don't hit anything else in my convulsions and I hit the wall, WTF, I have no place to go.

Finally someone unintentionally saves me by diverting their attention and I scrambled out of my corner, mumbling my "nice-see-you-nice-to-meet-you" as I rush by. All that is running through my mind was how far away I can get in the least amount of time. Humiliation is better left with the fewest number of witnesses as you can get.

Damn, damn, double damn

This hill I live on is a very muddy hill...it rains here a lot. Of course those could be my tears, but really, do I cry that much? I scramble up, trying my hardest to gain purchase on the shrubs and bushes. Sometimes when the ground drys out, I can pull myself from bush to bush and I can see the top of this mound. But then the rain comes. Sluicing me in a muddy river down the rocky and scrubbed slope. My hands reach out desperately for something to grab, to hold onto. But they are gone, pull out during my other falls down the hill. I fall on my back in the wet, sticky goo that gathers at the bottom and look up. I can see the top, although it looks so much higher from my lowly position. I know I can make it, I know I will make it. For now, I will just sit here a moment and gather my breath. Tomorrow, I will climb again.