So I’m really not into the sitting around someone’s bedroom all day thing. It’s a dream to lie in bed with close friends or boyfriends and binge-watch really good shows but I’m too non-intimate for that. And I don’t know how to rephrase “been there, done that” so that I come off less obnoxious but– “Been there. Done that.” It’s great until the person you’re lying next to steals your baby and gets his whole entire family to eat, breath, and sleep your demise.
Mid-February, I went to visit my old principal and sixth grade teacher for prayer. We took a stroll down memory lane mentioning everyone I had grown up with/they had raised.
“Do you remember Keven?” I asked.
“Oh, I remember that one!” Sr. Pietrina rolled her eyes.
When Keven mooned me in kindergarten, his rear was the first rear I had ever seen on another person. The first penis I had ever seen was Dontell Barthelemy’s when his too-loose boxers fell to the ground and Rebekah and I (seven and eight years old) snickered away. That’s another story though.
I told Keven I went to visit them and that their memories are sharp.
“‘I remember that one?'” he grimaced over the phone. “They act like I was such a wild child. Let me tell you something– I attribute them to making me a good person morally you know? But they taught me not a damn thing. And I’ll tell them to their face too. They let my mom beat me right in front of them once. What kind of shit is that?”
I have to disagree with the scholastic part but I believe he was spanked in front of them and that’s humiliating. Getting disciplined in front of anyone is humiliating unless the cause has a purpose. My mom spanked Rebekah in front of them once. Rebekah had a note-passing problem in fourth grade. It was hilarious.
In the end, thankfully Keven is not on the news. Instead he’s giving me relationship advice. It’s impossible not to bray. He says I just need someone to “cuddle up with it.” What’s with it with this “Netflix and chill” ideal? I don’t like just anyone in my space for more than two hours– not for a Snapchat snap, not for an Instagram like, not for a story or nuffin. I prefer talking on the phone where I can hang up and go on about my emotionally lonely business in my romantically bereft apartment.