Spring Break
Sometimes a realistic attitude is better than a sunny one
Issue date: 1/31/08
"You know," a friend confessed to me lately, "when I first met you, I was kind of scared of you."
This was an odd statement to make to me, of all people - me, the girl who barely spans five feet in height and is a remarkable contrast to my five-eight, could-be-a-model friend. She must have noticed how confused I probably looked, because she was quick to amend her words: "No, not scared like, 'Oh, she's going to beat me up!' But more like, 'Wow, I shouldn't mess with her.'"
Apparently, you really shouldn't, because it is not the first time I've heard sentiments like this before. I'm the kind of person who, admittedly, doesn't seem too conventionally nice: My friends have nicknamed me Tinkerbell and even Buttercup (Ã la the Powerpuff Girls) due to my feisty nature. I guess I've got this personality that may seem pretty intense to those who don't know me, but you learn to love my so-called "spunk" with time. Or so I think.
Anyway this little tidbit of conversation slipped my mind for a while, until I went to dinner with some of my boyfriend's cousins for the first time over break. It was awkward at first, but after we got all of the standard questions out of the way (e.g., "How's John Hopkins?" followed by my struggle not to correct them out of politeness), the conversation eased up. We enjoyed dinner, and slowly my nerves disappeared, until I felt comfortable enough to shed the polite exterior and really be myself.
What started with the usual banter between my boyfriend and I quickly turned into the rest of the table ogling whatever casually slipped out of my mouth. These were things I nonchalantly said, without even thinking about them, but, in the end, felt like the punch lines on MTV's Yo Momma, with his cousins acting as the taunting commentators. I joked about leaving him for "bigger, better things" (innuendo not intended); from their reactions, I felt like my boyfriend was an Internet GIF with "OWNED" plastered across his reddening face.
This was an odd statement to make to me, of all people - me, the girl who barely spans five feet in height and is a remarkable contrast to my five-eight, could-be-a-model friend. She must have noticed how confused I probably looked, because she was quick to amend her words: "No, not scared like, 'Oh, she's going to beat me up!' But more like, 'Wow, I shouldn't mess with her.'"
Apparently, you really shouldn't, because it is not the first time I've heard sentiments like this before. I'm the kind of person who, admittedly, doesn't seem too conventionally nice: My friends have nicknamed me Tinkerbell and even Buttercup (Ã la the Powerpuff Girls) due to my feisty nature. I guess I've got this personality that may seem pretty intense to those who don't know me, but you learn to love my so-called "spunk" with time. Or so I think.
Anyway this little tidbit of conversation slipped my mind for a while, until I went to dinner with some of my boyfriend's cousins for the first time over break. It was awkward at first, but after we got all of the standard questions out of the way (e.g., "How's John Hopkins?" followed by my struggle not to correct them out of politeness), the conversation eased up. We enjoyed dinner, and slowly my nerves disappeared, until I felt comfortable enough to shed the polite exterior and really be myself.
What started with the usual banter between my boyfriend and I quickly turned into the rest of the table ogling whatever casually slipped out of my mouth. These were things I nonchalantly said, without even thinking about them, but, in the end, felt like the punch lines on MTV's Yo Momma, with his cousins acting as the taunting commentators. I joked about leaving him for "bigger, better things" (innuendo not intended); from their reactions, I felt like my boyfriend was an Internet GIF with "OWNED" plastered across his reddening face.
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