DC

Looking young for your age has its benefits, I'm sure. However, I have yet to discover them.

I've worked at a middle school for two weeks and a day. People have mistaken me for a middle schooler not once, not twice, but thrice. Yes. On three different occasions, people have looked at my face and assumed that I've been alive for thirteen years or less.

Apparently, when you look like you're 13, middle school boys start thinking it's ok to hit on you and ask you out. I see some students who are not on my caseload pretty regularly. One of these seventh grade boys approached me the other day.

"Are you from DC?" he smirked.
"Umm... nope," I responded.  
"'Cuz you're the only 'ten' I see!" He burst into embarrassed laughter and ran away with his friend.

I didn't know how to react. Obviously our little Don Juan needs to practice his pick-up lines.

The real line is: "Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only 'ten' I see!"

Not DC.
Not even close.

The same kid asked me out later that day, and I simply stared at him in shock.

This is my life.

Oops

Inspired by my orderly sister, I have begun the habit of selecting my outfits the night before work. It prevents stress in the morning.

Yesterday, I bought a pretty awkward pair of pants for only three dollars! I need new clothes, nothing fits me anymore, and I haven't been paid yet. So, I bought these khaki capris, figuring that I could just shove them in some boots and be fine. I also picked up a cute, sleeveless white top for three dollars. It's not exactly sleeveless weather, but I own a jacket that coordinates with my boots. Without another thought, I planned my outfit for the day.

This morning, I didn't follow my typical routine. I had a letter to write. This letter took much longer than expected. I ended up throwing on my clothes, flicking my hair into a pony-tail, and galloping out the door.

In the car, I glanced at my outfit. Oh no... great. 

Minus the horse, helmet, and gloves, that is exactly what I was wearing. And, I was already late. My only hope was that no one would notice that I dressed to lead horses instead of middleschoolers.

I continued through my day, wincing occasionally but otherwise unaffected by my costume.

Then, after the dismissal bell, one of the teachers gave me the side-eye."You look like you're about to go horseback riding," she chuckled.

"Yep... I know. I realized that a little too late this morning," I responded with a shrug.

Normally, I dress well. I guess you win some and you lose some. Happy trails!

Sweatshirt

I began working at a middle school last week. That, in and of itself, will be fuel for a forest fire of awkward stories. Brace yourselves.

My coworker and I observed the PE class. Fifty students meandered around the track like sheep without a collie. They circled two hen-house soccer games, complete with cock-fighting and scrambling around.

As I gazed upon the proverbial barnyard of middle school gym students, I noticed a figure sitting on the track, wearing a sweatshirt like a backwards cloak. The hood covered the figure's face. The sweatshirt's body and arms rested on the figure's bundled limbs as it curled in an upright ball.

What in the world? Does the gym teacher see that kid? Why are they sitting on the track? I mean, I know it's bright out here, but really?

My coworker and I proceeded to converse with one of the gym teachers. As conversation progressed, he began to talk about the causes of the Old MacDonald-style gym class. Apparently, one of the other gym teachers took a personal day.

"The substitute came in, and she looked so frantic. She kept saying 'Shedule? Shedule?'... I don't think she really speaks English. The kids can't understand her, so we decided to do this today," he explained.

"What is she doing now?" I asked.

"Oh. She's over there." He pointed to the cloaked woman on the track.

I gasped and stifled a snicker. I'm positive that all sorts of expressions danced across my face.

We watched the animal farm a few minutes longer, and then continued inside.

Wea

I love hosting people: the cooking, the cracking up, and the conversation (not so much the cleaning, but I digress). Last night, I invited a group of friends over. Korey and I planned on making a big dinner, but then duty called, quite literally, and he returned to Richmond. I recently befriended Korey's close friend Alex, and Korey told Alex and his twin, Alan, about dinner at my apartment. Korey then sent me Alex's number.

Fast forward a few hours. People arrive at my apartment as I cook oryx sausage, noodles, and spaghetti sauce. We eat dinner, and I recall texting Alex slipped my mind.

Hey! I didn't text you earlier, but you guys should still come over! It's Becca, by the way, I shoot from my phone into the cosmos.
Wea I know u frm, returns to me.

"Um... PJ, what does this even mean?" I ask as I turn to my friend in confusion.
"Wea. Like Way-ah. Where," PJ answers with a chuckle.
"Weird."

Camp... Church....  I respond, a little confused. He told Korey he planned on coming over. Plus, I'm confident that Alex knows how to spell "where".

My phone begins to sing as Alex's number calls. I pick up and walk to the other side of the room.

"How I know you?" the caller mumbles.
"Um... I'm confused. Is this Alex?" I reply.
"No, this is [insert muddled name beginning with 'K']. So, how you get my number?" not Alex inquires.
Our conversation lasted a little while as I tried to get off the phone and he tried to keep the conversation going. I'm pretty sure that he wanted Alex's invitation. Nope... not inviting you over, mister. Sorry. No, I don't know you.

I text Korey, get the real number, and Alex comes to liven up the rest of the our night. I baked cookies, and people made reckless "Apples to Apples" matches. Mr. K. did not join us, and I believe it was for the best.

Hot Chocolate

My life is a series of hilarious awkward stories strung together like middle school boys playing Red Rover or the lights on Charlie Brown's Christmas tree. My friends get frequent awk-dates on my life, and I even have a friendship sustained for years with nothing but uncomfortable stories. I've decided to share the amusement that is my life with you, reader... whoever you are. Enjoy.

Last week, I made the wise decision to go to Walmart at 11 at night. As I deftly maneuver my shopping cart through the bean aisle, my eyes lock with a shorter man. He stands about my height and his hair is about my color. However, I'm pretty sure he hasn't washed his recently. A pungent odor hangs about his cart, and I resolve to dodge any potential conversation as I study the beans and internally debate the correct types for tomorrow's chili.

"What's your name?" Mr. Man asks as he gazes at me.
Dagnabit... "Becca," I say with a nod as I push my cart away.
"That's a pretty name," he replies as I nod again and leave.

It's not really that pretty of a name, actually. Pretty normal, but thanks. Oh goodness... ok. I need to grab some almond butter and get out of here...

I weave through aisles to throw Mr. Man off my scent, and head over to the nut butter section. Again, it's late, I'm tired, and I am struggling to make quick food choices. So, I linger a little too long over by the almond butter. An odor-wraith drifts over my shoulder and tickles my nose. I stare more intensely at my choices.

"Do you know where the Nestle Hot Chocolate is? The NesQuick? The hot chocolate?"
Am I wearing a "How can I help you?" smiley name tag? "Nope. Sorry," I reply.
"Oh. Well... do you like hot chocolate?"
Not when you ask me like that... but I answer, "Um..."
"Do you want to get some to drink it some time?"
Sir, first of all, it is late at night and still about 70 degrees outside. You should be offering iced tea. Secondly... "Nope, sorry, I can't," I respond.
"Oh... that's too bad. You look like fun," he smirks as he leaves.
Please excuse me while I simultaneously crawl out of my skin, throw up in my mouth, and run away.

I proceeded to grab whatever else I needed as quickly as possible and sprint through the check out line. I'm proud to report that I made it to the car and my apartment without further discomfort.