Romance is Boring

Jenna Viola Really Needs to End Chapters Better

I got her number, somehow. Maybe it was the constant telling of terrible puns or the way that I kind of accidentally brushed her cheek or how I let her nuzzle into my neck.

Just kidding. None of that happened (outside of my head, at least). I asked for her number by saying that I may want to, you know, maybe, buy my mom flowers randomly, or maybe buy some for myself, definitely not daisies though, definitely not, do you come here often? I like your hair.

I get really awkward after anything romantic happens, even if it's all in my head and none of it actually happened. It didn't help that she was probably the prettiest girl I'd ever seen in my life.

I did get her number, though. By a stroke of God, probably. I guess that He figured something had to give after a while, since I have the approximate look and size of a whale (I also make the same sounds that a whale makes when I'm mad. I'm all like "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH." Girls find it cute, trust me on this).

So then I had to play the game of "Pffffft I don't want to text you and say that you're totally adorable and try and flirt." The first text I sent her was a long message that implied I was super gay (true) and that I saw a cute girl at my school (initiate jealousy). I sent it, then waited about an hour. No response.

I freaked her out, obviously. No one has a life where they actually do things away from their phone. So I sent another text shortly afterward saying something along the lines of "Oh fuck I'm a dumbass that was actually meant for my other gay friend I apologize for sending you a weird message that you clearly don't give a fuck about even though my heart is all wrapped up in your eyes and hair and stuff."

She said "No problem! Hehe."

Progress.

So I sent her something that I thought was witty that probably wasn't, and then I went to eat, and I kept my phone in my pocket, not because I wanted to check it to see if the cutest girl in the world had texted me back, but just because I wanted my phone there. You know. For the company. And shit. Not literal shit. Do you think phones shit? Is that all the dead pixels? They shit it out?

Anyway. I texted her again after dinner letting her know that Project Runway was on, because why the fuck not? I consider telling people that Cupcake Wars is on a public service, because every goddamn person needs to watch that show. She texted me back and told me that she was watching it too, and that she loved the show.

Progress.

So over the next few minutes we talked about getting on the show and throwing flour at the other competitors and making a giant dick cake and having puppies as our assistants and just having melted cake with a mountain of frosting as our submission but actually winning because we'd flash the male judges and they'd be like "Yes of course the broken cake wins."

If this were anywhere else, like a novel, or a movie, or a song, I'd say something along the lines of "And that's when I fell in love with her." But that's not really how it works, is it? I mean, I had a crush on her, because she was adorable and sweet and smart and funny and beautiful and kind of perfect, but I didn't really know that much about her yet. She could be a motherfucking axe murderer. An axe murderer that fucks my mom and that would really suck because I like my mom (hopefully) being celibate.

I mean, sure, she was the cutest girl I'd ever seen, and her giggle and voice were my favorite things I'd ever heard, and I loved her big eyes, and I loved her curly hair, even when it was messy, and FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK THIS.

I GUESS I WAS OKAY ARE YOU HAPPY I REALLY LIKED HER.

GOD DAMN IT.

THE END.

I GUESS I'M A CLICHÉ NOW.

I'D SOMETHING LIKE "BUT CHARLOTTE ISN'T A CLICHÉ, SHE'S SOMETHING WHOLLY ORIGINAL" BUT THAT'S EVEN WORSE.

FUCK.

END OF CHAPTER THREE.