I Punched a Girl: Part VI
After fourth period, I met up with Andy and we walked to lunch.
“Andy!” Christie screeched from down the hall. Andy cringed.
See, Christie was this annoying cheerleader who’d had a crush on Andy since, like, fourth grade. She was part of the Rice Kristies, a horrible pun and a group of three girls named “Kristie”—Christie, Kristie, and Criystee, the last of whom had parents who apparently never learned how to spell. All three members of the Rice Kristies (God, it pains me to even say those words) were cheerleaders, but Christie was the only brunette and, frankly, the only unattractive one. Kristie was dumb but hot, and Criystee defied her parents’ legacy by grasping the concept of phonetics. She was also cute and ranked number two in our class. Then there was Christie, who was both marginally ugly and painfully stupid, and boy did she love Andy.
Most Disturbing “Sexy” Halloween Costume Concepts
Look, while I don’t participate in the trend, I know many girls use Halloween as an excuse to look like a cheap hooker. I’m okay with costumes like “Officer Naughty” and “Voluptuous Vampiress”. What bothers me are slutty costumes based on innocent childhood characters. C’mon, people. Let’s make Halloween more about cheap chainsaw chills and less about child molestation.
Girl Scout Troop Leader: ‘Scuse me, but when did “girl” suddenly mean “fully-developed woman with giant cans”? Girl scouts don’t wear platform pumps and a garter. Guys, I understand the appeal of a tight-fitting little ditty gracing your gal, but let’s move away from having her dressed as a tiny child selling cookies.
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.
