My office crush has decided that I am the perfect person to give him advice about the boy he’s in love with. I sent him an e-mail full of wise but fairly obvious advice. This was, in part, his reply (keep in mind that I am just days shy of 30 and he has just turned 22):
“i REALLY do not mean this to make you feel anything but happiness in knowing that you have helped a friend, but i want you to know that your experience and years have really helped me.”
Clearly I must check myself into a nursing home first thing tomorrow.
Jesus Christ.
Plus, at cheerleading practice tonight there weren’t enough bases for me to fly, so I had to learn base type things, which I was pathetic at, since I am about one inch taller and three pounds heavier than the flyers (for those of you joining us in the middle of our story, I have been designated a “mid base flyer”). So I had to watch other people do what I wanted to do while not even being able to participate competently in any way.
What if last week’s stint as a flyer was a fluke and my entire cheerleading career is like tonight?
Let’s look on the bright side, though: at the nursing home, at 5’6″ and 135 lbs., I will be a terrific base, able to hurl everybody into the air effortlessly without even taking a break from gumming my apple sauce.
At least you won’t have to worry about hemming your pants in the nursing home–you can just let them drag disconsolately behind you as you shuffle down the corridor.