Dear Becca,
Two words. Suede shoes.
You know, most girls notice a guy's eyes or hair or smile, but I'm so bloody
shy. So the first things I notice? The guy's shoes. (What kind of shoes
does Darren Criss wear? They must be really cool.) You know speaking of
Darren Criss, I'm probably just crushing on the idea of SS (Suede
Shoes--new nickname). I mean, sure, sometimes I get to class 15 minutes
early just because I know for a few minutes we'll be the only ones
there. But even then we only exchange "Good morning"'s and I comment on
his cool stumbleupon photo. (Isn't that hilarious? He uses Stumbleupon.)
But only to "make his computer cool." (He used the photo for his
computer background. And for the record, I was not creepily watching him
from a distance! I was sitting next to him on the floor and his screen
was in full view.)
I don't think guys should be allowed to call a
girl's writing beautiful; it has adverse effects. Honestly, cute guy +
praise for my writing = Daydreams. And daydreams? Those aren't good for a
girl's attention span!
He gave my paper back to me today. Becca,
it's completely not fair that I have my first class of the day with him.
I mean, there I was, almost comatose, and he was all "Hey!" (Cue my
staring at the floor in a zombie stupor.) "Hey!" As I slowly blink and
think, Huh? Why isn't anyone answering that guy? It's too early for such blatant yelling!
"Hey!" (You know, actually come to think of it? He could have gotten my
attention sooner if he had actually used my name... Well? Maybe not...)
And I finally realized that Hey! = me and there was a paper being
thrust at me and he was almost falling out of his seat in an attempt to
maintain the paper's hovering status.
And my hand moves
with all the force of a great typhoon (not.) to grab it and then he
says, "My roommate wanted to read it too. He added his own comments."
(And this makes me think... Did he tell his roommate that it was an
epic story? Did he like it so much that he decided to SHARE it with
someone? MY WRITING? Little old me? What universe is this? Am I
dreaming? Did the fates sleep through their alarm clocks this morning?
What is going on?!!)
Meanwhile, the outside me is giving him
a very Tohru-esque smile (the main character in fruits basket who is
always smiling like this : D) which I'm sure looks absolutely ridiculous
and I say, "Oh..." And I blink owlishly at him, multiple times before I
finish with a not-so-brilliant, "That's like twice the criticism.
Thanks!"
... I know, Becca. I know. Of all the cool, sophisticated things I could have said, that was what spilled out of my mouth. Isn't that as pleasant as a seven am wake up call?
I
can't believe this started with shoes. Shoes, Becca! (If I judge people
by their shoes, maybe I shouldn't be wearing these battered tennis
shoes...) What does it take to catch this girl's notice? Only a pair of
interesting shoes...
Oh Becca, how does this happen?
Anyway, this letter is supposed to be for your birthday. Happy Birthday, Becca!
"In dreams begins responsibility." -- William Butler Yeats
Maybe
we're both farther into this responsible, mature adult thing than we
think? We're going to make it, Becca. We're going to be SO AWESOME that
no one's going to know what to do with us. Well, I'm dedicating this
blog to you. And to suede shoes. And to uncertain futures. I hope you
have the happiest birthday imaginable. May all your wishes come true.
And hey, you don't have to know everything all at once. It'll work out
in the end. It always does.
Love you bunches,
Sarah
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