Show-mance, not so much

I was a huge nerd in high school. Not the smart kind, just the socially awkward kind. So maybe not so much a nerd, but more like a dork. Yes. (We may as well get our terminology straight right in the beginning, right?) I didn't really fit in with any of the groups, I just flitted from clique to clique, friendly to all but member to none. I was a misfit... Ok, still am.

One of the groups that I really wanted to be a part of in high school was the Drama Freaks. (Don't ask me why, I guess freak is more socially acceptable than dork.) So one day on a whim, I tried out for a musical. Now it should be said that I was also not one of the Choir Nazis, so my tryout was probably way less than stellar. But thanks to lack of people at the tryouts, pretty much everyone made it. Including me.... So, my path to stardom was started that fateful day. And the show that would end all shows?

The Mark Twain Musical.

I know right? How fantastically lucky was I to be in the chorus for such a hugely popular show! I mean you have heard of it, right?

Right?

No?

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on?

Ok, so it wasn't the most well known musical production ever. And I had pretty much never heard of it, or of any of the songs in it. But my fellow chorus members and I celebrated nonetheless.

I am so serious, we were such dorks.

Anyways, practice for the show started right away and we threw ourselves into learning the songs and dance routines for the production.

Did I mention I was awkward? Dancing was really not a good thing for me. Not pretty I tell you what, not pretty...

So one day during practice, we were all gathered on the small stage getting ready for more choreography instruction. People were standing or sitting around where they could waiting for things to begin. I was sitting on a roman stage bench with my BFF Christine chit chatting between instructions. During a bit of downtime, we struck up a conversation with two Choir Nazi boys.

They were cute. Even though I would never admit it.

I flirted shamelessly and probably very badly as well. I was confident that my womanly powers of persuasion were working when the taller one got a very strange look on his face.

And then, time slowed down.

His face was slowly coming toward me, lips slightly pursed with a confident, debonair look.

I froze in terror. And yet, the face kept coming.

As his face came closer, I leaned backward. And his face came even closer and I leaned even farther. And his lips were inches from mine and then,





THUD



I hit the floor with enough force that the entire rehearsal was stopped and every cast member turned around to look at the clumsy, ridiculous girl who had fallen off the backless bench.

Oh yeah. I am really that awesome. That cool.

And the boy? He and his friend erupted into laughter at the girl who (literally) fell for their little charade.

Derrick? Are you there? I really did want to kiss you. I hope you know that. Derrick? Derrick?

Ahem.

And the flirtation that I thought was turning into a show-mance? False. Devastation. Poor, sad little high school junior. Socially awkward girl.

And then I am sure I ate a dozen glazed donuts. And the show went on.