Romance is Boring

Jenna Viola Really Needs to Stop Telling Dumb Puns

I really, really, really, really didn't want to go back to the flower shop. I think I would have rather been beaten unconscious with my own severed leg than see Charlotte in that store. If that happened I could at least make a joke about it, like "I've got a leg up in life." Or, even better, "Leggo my leg OH!" 

I know you can't hear it, but I'm laughing.

Anyway. I went back to the flower shop. Only to look at the daisies. I didn't really care that Charlotte was beautiful and her eyes were really big and her smile was really pretty and that she kinda tilted her head when she talked and that she was really really really adorable. None of that mattered. I just wanted flowers. Charlotte could have been dead for all I cared. 

I really hoped she wasn't dead.

I walked in and, of course, she was right behind the counter. Waiting. Staring at me expectantly. She bit her fingernail, but only the corner, which is a subtle way of saying that you're cooler than someone according to all the 80's high school movies that I've watched.

"Hey, dork." She smiled, and I did this awkward duck thing where I pulled up the hood of my hoodie over my head and hunched over, except I wasn't wearing a hoodie, so I nearly pulled my T-shirt off, which would have been awkward. Understandably, she kinda stared at me. 

I was holding on to the hope that she didn't know who I was and that she just called everyone dork, but she ruined that illusion when she went "Hey, no, come back. Just for a second. I need to ask you something." 

Of course, I turned around. In the split second between turning around and seeing her face and body, I kinda forgot how gorgeous how she was, so when I saw her again I did a double-take in the least obvious way possible. She was wearing big sunglasses, and she had the prettiest smile. Red lips, cute, tiny teeth. Her slightly curly hair looked a little brighter today, more of a dirty blond than the chestnut that it was the day before. I figured it was the lighting in the place. Her small fingers played on the cashier's counter, and she smirked at me. 

"What's the weather like outside? It looks like it's kinda dark. Is it gonna storm?" She bit her lip a little, and looked nervous. Her fingers drummed on the counter. 

"Well, you know, you are wearing sunglasses." She blushed when I mentioned it, and took them off. "But, yeah, I heard it was supposed to rain. Probably any minute now." 

Charlotte got nervous again, and started pacing. "Did they mention lightning? Or tell you to get off the road? Anything like that? Why do you say that it'll be any minute no-" 

Just as she said it, it started pouring. I shrugged and pointed outside, and she hurried around the counter to shove a broom in between the door handles. I casually mentioned to her that it wasn't a hurricane or anything, she could still let people in the store, and she just closed her eyes and shook her head and turned the radio on. 

"You look nervous," I said, watching her pace around. She went into the back wall of the store near the watering cans and sat against it, putting her knees to her chest. I followed her and sat down next to her, putting a hand on her knee. "Hey, hey. It's nothing to worry about. Just a little storm." She seemed to loosen up a little with my hand on her knee, but when she heard thunder start she started shaking a little. 

Look, don't judge me. This is the only way I know how to calm down pretty girls, I swear. But when you read what I say next you'll probably be like "How did she ever get laid" and I would totally understand why you would think that. I mean, I'm pretty, but as you can tell, I don't really know how to talk to girls. At all. I'm kind of a weirdo. Anyway. That was just a heads-up for the amount of cringe you're about to experience.

"Charlotte," I giggled, thinking about the joke. "Hey, hey. Listen. How does a train eat?" She looked up at me and blinked, biting her lip gently. "Choo choo."

I have never, ever, ever heard a cuter laugh than hers. It was light and airy and giggly and soft. I wanted to make her laugh over and over again, just to hear it. Her eyes lit up when she laughed, and she put her hand on mine. 

"That is fucking awful I love it." She kept giggling, squeezing my hand lightly whenever thunder hit above us. "Okay, I have one. What does a buffalo say to his..." She giggled and stopped talking, holding her mouth while she laughed. "Sorry, sorry. I just... This joke. Okay. I got this." She giggled some more, shaking a little. I laughed with her, and watched her to make sure she didn't die, or something. "Okay. Okayokayokay. OKAY. I have it. What does a buffal- What does a buffalo... What does a buffalo say to his son when he leaves for college?"

I looked at her and shrugged, giggling at her big smile. "What?" 

"Bison!" She laughed so hard that she fell sideways a little, and I had to hold her a little to bring her back up and that was awkward for me. "Maybe it's just me..." She stopped laughing a little when she saw me laughing hard, but not quite as hard as her.

"NO I LOVE IT THOUGH." I laughed, keeping my hand on her knee. "Holy shit who knew that you would have the same sense of humor as me. Fuck." We both giggled, calming each other down. The rain started to slow down, and after about fifteen more minutes of mindless chatting it stopped completely. 

"I can probably open the store back up..." She giggled, looking at me. "Unless you have another great joke that will make me laugh and thus be completely unable to open the door because it is too painful for me to walk, let alone use the force needed to pull the broom out of the door handle." 

I sat still, thinking. I really didn't want an excuse to leave. "Oh, hey. I've got one. Sit down. Sit down." 

"Make me. Fight me, bitch." 

Then, it came to me. Possibly the best joke ever told. "Hey, Charlotte. Do you think that when someone who plays the fife gets in a fight with another orchestra player but needs to start a show they say--"

"NO. NO. YOU ARE NOT SAYING THIS. NO." She laughed, trying to cover my mouth. I pushed her hands away and laughed, yelling "FIFE ME CHARLOTTE. DO IT. FIFE ME. HAND ME MY FIFE." 

We both laughed for what was probably fifteen minutes. We'd stop, breathe, look at each other, think of it again, and then start laughing really hard. She kept saying "I just... I just keep picturing this dorky musician who takes his job too seriously who's yelling 'FIFE ME WHY WON'T YOU FIFE ME'" and then laughing hysterically along with me.

After a while, we were laying really close to each other and breathing normally again. I looked up at her and smiled, giggling. 

"I guess I can keep the store closed for a little while longer," she said, smiling.