I Punched a Girl: Part I
There was blood everywhere, and tears in her eyes.
God, that sounds like the chorus to a Hawthorne Heights song.
I didn’t mean to punch Shelby Waters in the face. I didn’t mean to break her nose. I didn’t even know I could break noses. I couldn’t even snap a pencil in two, which was pretty embarrassing when I tried in front of my sister, then the next day she told her whole second grade class.
Maybe I should back up.
I’ve been balls-to-the-wall in love with Shelby Waters for two years, ever since she transferred to my high school and lent me a pencil during sophomore year English. She smiled at me, and that was it. It was all over. I’ve never been able to look at another girl. I think I still have it. The pencil, I mean. It’s pink. Don’t tell her, though, ‘cause I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker. I’m not a stalker. I mean, I stare at her a lot, but I don’t wait outside her house in the rain dressed like the Unabomber.
CHINVASION
It’s huge, it’s gelatinous, it’s blood-thirsty, and it’s coming to a laptop screen near you! It’s… it’s… my chin!
I’d like to think that everyone has their own “bad angles” when it comes to photographs. I’d like to think that, but the reality is this: when faced with a camera, my chin grows to proportions other chins can only dream of.
When I look in the mirror, I see one chin. In most pictures of me, I see one chin. My loving (and lying) boyfriend has assured me that I indeed have only one chin.
If this is true, then why did these happen?
