Can You Take a Joke? Part 1

I am about to speak to you from vast experience, so buckle down, grab your notepad and listen up.

A few weeks ago, my rather uneventful romantic life took a drastic leap. All of a sudden, as of what I firmly believe was a curse, boys left, right and center, were very interested in me.

The curse? Well, one day, while I was sitting plainly in my music class with a group of friends, someone brought up romance. Everyone shared a story of love - crazy girlfriends, current crushes and whatever else. There I stood completely silent. That's when Gavin, the leader of the conversation, who also happens to be one of the biggest players in the city, turned to me and smirkingly said "So, Nat, how's your love-life going?" I smiled politely, and responded "Oh, you know, it's not moving." Both of us giggled. Gavin found my reply cute. Our conversation progressed onto other matters and all that was spoken about quickly found itself buried into the depths of our minds.

Until the next day.

The very next day, everything began tumbling and, like any tumbling object, gaining momentum. It all started with my friend of 4 years asking me to prom with romantic intentions. This situation was dealt with effectively. I simply expressed my desire to remain friends, and friends alone, and my friend agreed very easily. We made the mutual decision to forget the event and continue on the happy road to graduation as nothing more than friends. According to my friend, Violetta, however, a man and woman can never just be friends - the man always seeks more. I disagree, but that's a discussion for another time. 

Soon after the slight misunderstanding, as I'll refer to it, with my friend, I had to deal with a whole other issue. A house party.

Seemingly banal and regular, I attended a house party hosted by a friend from school. This particular friend didn't have many friends at our school since he was new to it, so the party consisted mostly of people I didn't know from his old school. Initially, I was afraid that it would be awkward for me to be at a party where I didn't know anyone, but my friend assured me that all of his friends were very welcoming. I took the risk and it paid off. True enough, all of his friends from the school in the suburbs were pleasant and friendly. They made me feel very comfortable.

I spoke with most of them and they shared stories about each other to me. I learned about the notorious alcoholic, the desperate dater, the celebrity, and a plethora of other fun titles. I envied the group a little because of the level of comfort they felt amongst themselves. They felt completely free to insult and taunt each other, like true close friends. No one ever got legitimately angry at anyone. At my school, that seldom seemed the case: People get highly offended by joking remarks and seem generally less free in their speaking amongst themselves. But I digress.

After I spoke with however many people at the party, I had to go home. What a bummer because I was really enjoying the company. So, I rested through the rest of my weekend and showed up to school on Monday. This is when I received some confidence-boosting news. 

Violetta, myself, and the host of the party I had just attended, all walked home together. This was rather typical for the three of us. Violetta and I needed to reach the bus stop, and he lived on the way, so it was logical. He usually was even kind enough to wait for the bus with the two of us -though sometimes it was just me- for as long as it took. But, as I mentioned, that day's stroll brought with it some exciting news.

My friend asked me if I remembered a certain boy from the party, I did and I told him so. Then, my friend tried to elaborate on that boy, but I, in my usual fashion, interrupted him. I believed that it would be rude to speak of matters that Violetta was unaware of without filling her in, so I took it upon myself to first do that. Violetta, obviously, hadn't attended that party and therefore needed filling in. I explained the boy to Violetta, and, after about 10 minutes, asked my friend to continue with his story. By now, the story had slipped his mind, but, after insisting he pour every ounce of his energy into recalling the tale, he remembered it.

The boy from the party had told my friend to pass along to me the message that I was cute in his opinion. I was flattered. 

No matter how many times I get told I'm pretty, no matter under what circumstances the compliment is received, it never gets old. I love it. And, of course, I do wish that someone would see something more to me than my outstanding facial symmetry, but I'm not going to complain. So, I was cute and that was the end of the conversation.

I got home, and after having a bite to eat, received a text message from the party host. His words (and emojis) were full of vibrance and happiness. Something had apparently made him so excited that he simply had to share it with me. I was in shower, and so ignored his messages. By the time I was finished, I had approximately 10 unread messages waiting in my inbox from this boy. I was surprised and asked him to please share. The line of questioning began first with what my opinion was on being told I was cute by his friend. I again expressed that I was flattered by the remark. He told me that he had a similar message to share. According to him, I was very popular with his friends from the school in the suburbs. A second friend of his had confided in him that I was cute. Contrary to the first friend, this one expressed an interest in dating me by asking if I was single. 

How flattering.

The party host asked me if the romantic interest was mutual. Of course it wasn't. I had known the boy in question for 1 hour, and in that one hour, he was slightly under the influence anyways, so I didn't know him nearly well enough to feel anything romantic towards him. Moreover, at the party, the particular boy had come across somewhat full of himself. He told me about so many achievements of his and all about how great he was. This, in and of itself, was a turn-off for me. I don't need you to advertise yourself to me - if you're great, I'll see that, thanks. Naturally, I didn't say any of this to the party host, who was texting me this and acting as an intermediary because I didn't want to offend his friend.

After I explained that I was not interested in his friend, the party host decided to do what is known as "wing-man-ing". This is when you talk up your friend in order to entice interest in him. I read the host's messages and grinned. How utterly cute it was to play wing man; what a friend! Nonetheless, I wasn't changing my mind. And that's when the weird thing happened: The party host, who has been passing on messages to me and talking up his friend, stops replying to my messages briefly. This is highly unusual for him; he is the type who is readily available on phone. So, I put my phone down and went to chat with my friend, who is the guitarist in my band, and who will be discussed in greater detail later on. I made plans with the guitarist to get churros and bubble tea. I can't remember why churros, but that's irrelevant anyways. After I made plans, my phone lit up again. I pulled my thumb downwards to display the message that I had just received and there it was, in all of its adoring glory.

The message, from the host of the party himself read "Maybe I'm interested, listen, fuick everyone else wanna go out?"

My-oh-my! Well, wasn't this just grand?

A third suitor altogether. That tumbling object that was my love life, was tumbling and even gaining momentum. Of course, the message was, again, highly flattering. This boy knew me more so than the rest of his flirtatious counterparts, so his disclosure of interest was even more flattering. And so, everything was looking just rosy, except for one small detail - this amor was a one way street. 

Personally, I had never seen the boy in question as anything more than a friend. Though he was a fun guy to be around, and always had interesting stories to tell, something about him guarded me from feeling anything romantic towards him. I adamantly believe that it is the height-ist inside of me. See, I have always pictured my significant other as someone significantly taller. This boy is shorter than me; not a lot, just a little, but still. Furthermore, his appearance is just generally not one I envision myself with. I know, it sounds superficial, but that's not all. I think that, if I actually really enjoyed his company, I could overcome the physical barriers, but I don't enjoy it that much. Why? Well, because of the title of this post, of course!