Awkward encounters with the opposite sex

Logan McMillen

Let me just start by saying hormones and darkness don’t work well together. Last year, I was stuck in a nasty basement, with breath that smelled like sour cream and onion potato chips, pursuing a girl that was barely distinguishable from the rest of my friends; it was not necessarily the most romantic place for a kiss. The drum pummeling, mosh pit music didn’t help either.

I went to go sit down next to her and tripped on my way down, head first into her stomach. Obviously my smoothness astonished even her. I quickly composed myself, then cracked my knuckles and went in for the move. Yawning, I slid my arm around her. It was 8 o’clock at night.

The second it landed on her shoulder everyone went quieter than a church after a loud fart. I couldn’t handle the pressure and quickly removed my hand from this bear trap. I went back to playing Guitar Hero, tail between my legs, and for some odd reason I was glad my plan failed. Five minutes later I was right back to pursuing this stranger.

I wiped the sweat off my brow and planned out my next move. First to return my arm around her shoulder; I proceeded with no fear, and nothing bad happened. However, I became too cocky. Mustering the pressure from six glaring friends, I closed my eyes, and made the move. I never saw the world the same way again.

I leaned in quickly and planted my lips the first place they landed. It felt like kissing a piece of Swiss cheese––these were not lips. My head jolted back fast enough to give me whiplash, but by then the damage was done. I had just given this girl a kiss smack right in the ear.

She stood up quickly and removed herself. She and two friends retreated to the bathroom, right across the hall. They whispered very poorly; however, that moment of embarrassment would not compare to the months of teasing that followed. I too would have my proverbial ear ripped to shreds, and it seemed like a just punishment.

But, still what was I thinking going in without a plan? My name is definitely not Mike Tyson, and she doesn’t look anything like Evander Holyfield, so why was I about to bite off her ear? Has she gotten better kisses from a golden retriever?  These questions plagued my thoughts.

That was the day I decided I like Guitar Hero better than girls.