Kevin and Aubrey: Part 2
CAN I WEIRD YOU OUT FOR A MINUTE? I mean, not in the Hey mom, it’d be so funny if I blogged a certain story about underwear, wouldn’t it? WOULDN’T IT? type of weird. Besides, she told me she’d disown me if I did. So let’s just say I know a really funny story about underwear – or more accurately, the lack of someone’s underwear that I’m not allowed to tell anybody.
Don’t you love when bloggers allude to stories they’ll never share?
But no. I’m going to kind of make things feel, well, awkward here for a minute. Like when your high school boyfriend forgoes his promise of prom and asks you to sneak into the church dance that night instead because you have a super awesome signed letter from the bishop saying you’re worthy, only you’re not actually worthy because it’s really your friend’s signed slip that you just erased her name and wrote over it in pen? Yea. That kind of awkward.
Last Saturday on my way to Kamie’s baby shower I stopped by my sisters house in Nephi. Only, she wasn’t there so I wound up taking pictures of her kids, cats and horses.
I also took photos of her dogs. The detail my new camera gives to pictures is amazing.
But the awkward part?
This isn’t Sam’s dog. Sure, it’s one of the four puppies her dog gave birth to, but she gave this particular dog away to one of her good friends and she was just watching it for the weekend.
The owner?
It’s Dale.
My sister watches his dog for him and hangs out with him because they’re still cool like that. Which I can be cool with too if it means I get to see a dog that somehow still remembers me after seven long months.
Her name is still Pups.
I felt kind of guilty really, taking photos of her and kissing on her and calling her skunk face and juju bean just like old times, but really?
Sam is still my sister.
It’s her house.
And it’s a dog.
And I really don’t think he would care.
But how did we get here? To where I’m blogging photos of a dog that’s owned by someone I used to date?
College.
Because remember? Everything changes with college.
I took two classes and alternated them Monday through Thursday so I would get the full weekend off. The first class was Math, and I walked into Mr. Sproat’s room early to scout out a good seat. Didn’t you know that where you sit determines your personality? It’s true. I learned that on a Facebook quiz and those NEVER lie.
Except for the one that says my personality is eighty-three percent optimistic. I’m still working with my therapist on that one.
If I chose a back seat, would I be too far away to read the board or to ask questions? Would I fall asleep? But I don’t want to sit right up front like some goody-goody two shoes – that sends the wrong message. I wound up going with a seat three rows over and two seats back. Close enough to the board to talk, not too far up front that I looked nerdy and close enough to the door if I needed to run (which I did once. We’ll get to that).
I watched as everyone else filed in and chose the spot they’d harbor for the entire semester. The majority of the class was male with only two other girls. I wasn’t concerned about that though. I had a fake wedding ring. (I’d link to that post but it’s one of many that I deleted when I went on a blog-cleaning rampage. So just imagine me, buying a fake ring from Walmart to trick people into not talking to me because I’m antisocial and have bubble issues).
The first lesson started with the teacher giving a speech of Don’t call me “sproat” like “sprout”. Those are two different things. My name rhymes with “goat”. I tuned him out when he started making weird elephant-like noises and talking to himself.
I became the goody-two-shoes I feared I would, answering questions and asking my own. But something was weird. I had an odd sensation during math – the feeling I’d imagine celebrities get when they are being spied on. I felt like someone had aimed a webcam at my face and was broadcasting it live on YouTube. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t figure it out, so I did the next best thing – I chalked it up to my imagination.
Here is the part things really get weird – where I reference all sorts of dates and times and conversations. Remember this is ME. I have a hard time remembering the day of the week, ya’ll. I can’t even remember what TV show I was watching two minutes into a commercial. But somehow I remember September 30th, 2009.
I was in math, stuck on some form of mathematical division. But this wasn’t just division. This was EVIL division on crack, that lived in the ghetto and uses their mother’s pet dog to beg for money on the streets so it can buy MORE crack and get even further messed up, and it wants you to bring it the $2 you owe it from that one time it bought you a drink, because the lack of those 200 pennies is clearly the reason why it’s having to live this way. This division was seriously messed, yo.
So I stayed after and had Professor Nobody Ever Pronounces My Name Right show me how to solve the problem. As I wrote down the solution I heard someone next to me say, “Hey you seem pretty good at this. Can you help me?”
I looked up. It was the guy from the seat one row over and one seat back from me.
“Uh…I’m not really that great. You should have him show you,”I pointed the tip of my pencil towards the teacher.
“You seem like you do pretty well though, you’re always answering questions!”
Ugh.
Someone noticed that?
I wanted to go home but I figured the fastest course would be to just submit, help him for a minute and leave. “Fine. I’ll help you but only if it’s on the last chapter. I don’t understand this one.”
“What’s your name again?” He asked.
“Aubrey. Yours?”
“Kevin.”
This is where I write to be continued, and offer you five dollars if you made it to the end of this post.**Disclaimer – the five dollars may or may not be paid with Monopoly money. First five acceptors receive a “get out of jail free” card included.**
***Disclaimer to above Disclaimer – the “get out of jail free” card doesn’t really work if you go to jail. ***
