a required taste for the pretentious as all get out





the stupidest thing i've ever done
December 02, 2004, 9:30 am

Picture, if you will, me: I am covered in a pink comforter which is draped from my shoulders, a burgundy tank top that is one-size too small and shows a lot of cleavage. Because the tank top is too small and shows a lot of cleavage, you can also see that I am wearing red lacy bra that has the typical "fat girl/cute bra" widestraps that do not belong under spaghetti straps (they're there for extra support, you know). I am retreating, my back turned to you.

"Jess, JESS," you say, with urgency, to my back. You are on the couch, and you are facing me. You and I have been watching Sportscenter and cuddling, which involves you with your arm around me, stroking my hair and my shoulders absent-mindedly while I listen to your heart pound in your chest. "JESS," you say again as I spin around.

"What?" I ask. I am annoyed. It is 2:17a.m. and I need to sleep, but I have spent the past ten hours with you at the bar, drinking too much and smoking too much and generally shirking all my responsibilities as a model teacher, person, and daughter.

You pause. You did not expect to see me so flustered. You look me in the eye.

"I Love you."

My reply is one of the four choices below:

A. I gasp, then run my fingers through my hair as I am wont to do when nervous or upset. I let the comforter drop, self-consciously pick it up again, laugh, and walk upstairs.

B. I smile, say, "I love you, too" and go back to the couch where we cuddle some more and then proceed to make-out with my dancing Ravens 12th man guy and Ray Lewis' bobblehead watching.

C. I look stunned, stammer something along the lines of "I love you, and I didn't know you did, and oh shit, what are we going to do NOW...wait, are you SERIOUS, or are you just saying that because you might be still drunk?" When you shake your head and sulk, I know I've said too much.

D. I look stunned and feel my stomach drop and my heart contract. My first instinct is self-preservation and self-defense, so I shoot back (faster than necessary) "I know." Your face drops. I shift uncomfortably, and then we spend the next twenty minutes in bizarro world, smoking a cigarette, where I repeatedly ask if you're mad at me, and you don't answer.

Pencils ready? Good, begin.

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