(That's a good band name.)
Seeing as I talk to all, what, three of you every week, and as nothing worth mentioning really happens to me during the summer, I am banning myself from the internet until September first. Turns out I have better things to do. Like eat snowcones by myself in the park. And expand my D.I. china collection. And injure myself sleeping in the van after getting locked out. It's a good life.
I've got it all planned out.
My first true love's kiss, that is.
It will begin with a summer challenge.
I'll dare him to grow out a marvelous mustache.
(Mustaches are funny, girls. And old school awesome. Humor me.)
If he is hesitant, I will question his manhood.
He will not refuse the challenge.
He may ask what I will give him for doing it.
I will tell him anything he wants.
Facial hair is a big deal.
Weeks, or possibly months later (depending on the growth rate of his upper-lip army),
When afternoon hikes and group picnics have sparked up a lil' somethin,
He will drop me off on my doorstep one night.
I will "suddenly" remember my promise to him.
"Looks like little Joey's not so little anymore,"
I'll tell him, because that is what we will affectionately christen the creature.
"Now what do you want from me?"
"Hm," he will ponder,
"Anything I want. I could ask you to bring me breakfast every day for a month.
Or I could make you walk around campus dressed like Barney the Dinosaur.
But I think I will just ask you to let me kiss you instead."
"Well," I will say,
"A deal is a deal. I've never kissed a moustachio'd man before."
"Me neither," He will respond.
Because my true love is a funny guy.
...I open a soda and an hour later I can still hear it crackling in its can. It's like it wants to eat me.
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