Thursday, June 16, 2011

My Sixth Grade Milkshake Brought All The Boys To The Yard

Recently, as I decided that I was going to be an awesome girlfriend and proactive members of society and avoid being forcefully put on that Hoarders show, I went through a lot of the boxes and bags that is filling our second bedroom and looking as if a clutter monster had sex with himself and ejaculated all over my floor.

Or perhaps I was hiding in there to avoid boredom and it was a change to escape from the dog because I’m pretty sure I’ve got him convinced that the room is haunted because every time he goes into it I throw things at him while hiding behind the door and screeching like a banshee the whole time until he runs out and takes cover under the kitchen table for a good hour.

I’m pretty sure this makes me the bestest dog trainer in the history of dog trainers because you don’t need some fancy Ceaser Milan certificate to train dogs. You just need to be bored enough not to care if what you are doing is borderline psychologically damaging to your animal.

After I briefly pondered the ethical implications of making my dog scared of ghosts and the bedroom, I realized that I was pretty awesome and didn’t have to worry about that and started rooting through boxes. I found books, and old books, and stupid things that I forgot I had and creepy things I wish I didn’t have and then I found a box of keepsakes my mom had given me like when I was five. Or eighteen.

Inside of it was stuff I had done in Elementary school because it’s only natural that the stuff I did in High school wasn’t important enough to put into a cardboard box and this only tells me that my mom thought I peaked in grade six.

Right at the bottom was a handmade grade six yearbook that my teacher, Mrs. J, had made us as we “graduated onto bigger and better things” such as you know, the 7th grade, but since my mom figured I peaked already she didn’t save any of these later years. Because of the peak, you see.

I was really touched at first that I found this and started reading all the farewells that were written to me because I was moving at the end of the school year and now I’m highly suspicious that our family move wasn’t because “Dad got a better job offer” but “You’ve made it as far as you could go in this school and we’re going to take you out of province and keep you out of school but SURPRISE! It’s apparently against the law to keep you out of school so we are just going to ignore your whole high school career because we don’t care.”  

And then it hit me.  In a flowery, flattering way that she figured would completely go over the head of a ten year old but jokes on her and me I grew up and learned how to read between the lines and realize that she was totally calling me a slut.

“I’ll always be amazed at your unique ability to befriend every single boy in class this year.”

Very funny, Mrs. J, you got me. If I wasn’t still ten I wouldn’t have realized how much you hated me so god damn much. Was it because I made friends with all the boys and you didn’t? Was it because my milkshake brought all the boys to the yard and your milk shake only had one real eyeball and the other was fake and I was the only kid in class who laughed when it fell out and rolled on the ground?  Because I wouldn’t want that milkshake either.

Just because the boys in class always had the best lunches doesn’t make me a slut. If anything it totally made me a user because I’d only be the bestest best friends with the kid who’s mom packed him the best sandwich and treats because, really, if you don’t have the best lunch on the playground you might as well go kill yourself because no one will like you and your mom probably hates you because she backed your shitty lunch that wouldn’t get you a sixth grade girlfriend.

You are lucky, Mrs. J, that there is no such things as a 6th Class Reunion because just to be a vindictive dick I’d show up dressed like a prostitute only to claim it was your inspiration comment that turned me to the lucrative life of a whore because I was so damn good at making all the boys my friends.

Actually, it probably didn’t help that I was the only sixth grader in my school with giant boobs.

Maybe my mom was right. I totally peaked in sixth grade.


1 comment:

  1. Don't you wish you could Butterfly Effect your way back in time and say all this to Mrs. J as your 6th grade self? Hilarious entry!


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