Welcome to day 23 of 30 Days of Writing, a creative writing challenge that never ends. Our prompt today is “Stiletto heels”. No, this wasn’t my suggestion. But I wasn’t going to turn it down, obviously. Hey, you’re lucky this wasn’t 30 Days of Writing About Shoes! Don’t forget to link up at the end of this post if you’ve participated in today’s challenge.
Let The Mocking Begin
After 22 days, I’m finally doing it. I am re-posting. I wrote this back in April, 2011, so some of you may not have seen it before. I know, I know! This should be an easy subject for me today. At the risk of whining, I’m a little tired. So, I’m going to be the hostess who throws a huge party, then abandons her guests and goes to bed. Literally.
They Call It Puppy Love, I Call It A Bitch
When I was 13 years old, I fell in love. His name was John and there wasn’t a single girl in my class who didn’t lust after him. I pined, I yearned, I longed for him with every fibre of my awkward, shy, chubby 13-year old stupid being. In my daydreams, I would be at one of our school dances and John would walk in, past the row of adoring pretty girls, and up to me. He would ask me to dance. We would dance while all the other girls looked on, green with envy. He would fall in love with me and we would live happily ever after.
Of course, that never ended up happening.
What did end up happening was John became aware of my constant stares and my inability to form coherent sentences in his presence. Being a 14-year old boy, and an ass, John took to mocking me with his friends. I took it as a positive sign. He knew I was alive and boys always tease the girls they like, right? I did mention I was 13, stupid, and he was an ass, didn’t I?
One day, John stepped it up a notch. He called me a particularly nasty name and told me nobody liked me. Of course, he said this in front of everyone, during class. I was humiliated. Worse, I was heartbroken. I sat like a stone through the remainder of the class, looking straight ahead, unable to breathe because my chest felt so tight and mentally yelling at myself that I had better NOT cry because I was an idiot and that would just prove to everybody what an idiot I was.
I didn’t cry. I also didn’t love John anymore.
Fast forward about 15 years. I was going to a party one night and on the way, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up some essentials (wine and smokes). I walk in and low and behold, the first face I see is John’s. Before I could pretend not to recognize him, he started chatting, asking how I’ve been, what I’d been up to since high school, did I still see any of the “old gang”.
As we were talking, I noticed several things. John was fat. John’s hair was greasy and thinning. It was Saturday night and John was wearing sweatpants with holes in them. John’s eyes were bloodshot. John was a little smelly.
Then I noticed John was checking me out. I was wearing a slinky black dress, fabulous black stiletto heels, and my hair and make-up were perfect. I looked damn good, even if I do say so myself. John apparently agreed with my assessment.
I told him I had to get going, there were people waiting for me. I flashed a hundred watt smile at him. I told him it was good to see him and that I hoped he was doing well and I started to walk away. And, I freely admit, I swooshed my hips side to side as I did. John asked me to hold up a minute. He was wondering if I was single. I said I was, even though I wasn’t. He told me he’d love to get together some time, maybe go for drinks, and he offered me his phone number. I flashed another smile, said no thanks and walked out the door.
He didn’t cry. He also didn’t love me anymore either.
Now teeter on over and visit the other talented folks who have joined in this challenge. And tell them everyone gets 250 points for their post and another 500 points today, for keeping it down while I sleep. 🙂