I know what you're thinking and yes.. Technically in some countries, hick towns and prisons I may be considered an adult as well, but let's be real. That is a bunch of noise. When I say I adult, I mean ADULT adult, tried and true. For men, I am talking abnormal bald spots, children, bicep tattoos that look more like ink pen defecation than a bed of tribal thorns, ex-wives named after alcohol, cars, and licorice and a volunteer position with the local Boy Scout troop. For women, I am referring to the post-menopausal lady kind that have suddenly grown tired of overachieving in the kitchen and bedroom and genuinely think that the classroom should be their next feat. Yea, about that. No.
Gentlemen, please. If the professor asks for an example.. more than likely they want one that is entertaining. Entertainment is not found in weathered anecdotes of the many years you spent "providing for your family" in that mill. Although the beautiful, tear-jerking story of your coworker, Juan, having nearly lost his arm reeaally made me think about life and appreciate my ability to applaud, dougie and braid hair... no one else thinks you're cool. I tried to take a class poll during one of your last rants to see if others agreed with me, but everyone was asleep. Fancy that.
To all you husbands out there, I understand you "love" your wife. You want what is best for her and you honestly just really want her to focus on other things besides where you are, what you are doing and what she can cook for you when you are done doing it. When she came to you with the idea of going back to school, you were hesitant about her interest in something other than you and your well being, but you gave in anyway. You gave her the permission she needed since you are clearly the decision maker in the relationship and off she went. Uhm. About that. Fun fact, sir. You did not have to say yes. You did not have to agree that the idea was one of worth. Women are genetically predisposed to be completely inept. Tell us when we are wrong. (Always.) Tell us to forget about our stupid aspiration of knowledge or credibility or whatever we're whining about and point us back to the kitchen. Let us make you a sandwich or something. Ever since you guys started letting women protest, peacefully assemble and speak, it's been nothing but bad news. Now all the old ones all about signing up for COM 486 and perfecting the art form that is intercoder reliability. It's just... wrong.
Just kidding, Nancy. You're awesome.
Who is Nancy, you ask? Oh, you know.. Just my best friend in waiting. Whether she knows this or not isn't the question, ok? Right now, I am working towards ultimate BF4L status. Once that is achieved, we will then discuss what exactly she can do for me. We first met at the beginning of the semester in a crowded room of three. Both abnormally early for class due to a mistake on my watch and an eagerness to learn on hers, we connected over our shared love of some restaurant that I had never been to. You see, she was mid-one-way-conversation before I realized she was talking to me. She was waiting for an answer to a question that I never even heard, so I nodded my head and excitedly said, "Yes!" assuming she had just asked me if I wanted to sex Zac Efron. Yea, wrong. Apparently she was raving about this awesome restaurant in the middle of bumfuck Garner and inquired as to whether I had been there before. Nanthy wath thuper duper exthited we had both eaten at the thame plathe. Like, more than anyone should ever be. A restaurant is a restaurant. Heads up. If they're in business, more than likely you are not the only person that eats there. Shocking, I know. Anyway. She asked me what I ordered. I told her I had gotten something different with every visit, but really loved "some chicken thing" one time. I asked her what she got. She answered with words that may or may not have been Slavic, but oh my gosh. Such a small world. The last time I went there I ordered the EXACT same thing and absolutely LOVED it. Definitely a must, you guys.
Next class came around.. I intentionally got there ten minutes late and blade-to-wrist upset, HAD to sit really really far away from the Nance. So sad, I know. As the semester ensued and people made specific seats their permanent home, Nancy found her way back to me. How sweet. Yea, yea. Small problem. Boy. Not just a boy, though. Like, MAN boy. Like, really GOOD man boy. Good, in this context, will be defined by HOLY CRAP. Yea, that pretty. Unfortunately for my weekend plans and lacking relationship with the make-out fairy, girl has been wrecking the flow since Week Three. Girl being Nancy, if you are having trouble keeping up.
She clearly did not get my hint of moving her things, leaning over her and "forgetting" her usual seat in order to have direct body contact with the hot piece of almost man on the other side of her, but whatever. Married women apparently don't see that some college males actually exude sex, camel tone loafers and the ability to provide David Yurman to their slampieces. How rude. You have a husband, whore. Let me sit next to him. Your children may be older than me, your husband may be a really awesome banker with lots of sport coats and business cards and your hair may be more flammable than Bonnie's carpet, but none of these things give you the upper hand. You may have your will, but I have my youth. It is on. Game. Set. Match.
I didn't care enough about the boy or the class or her, actually, to make it to class on time for the following weeks, so my efforts died off. To make a long story short because I am losing interest in my own rant, I continued to sit next to Nancy. Nancy continued to treat the class as if it was a basic activity and she was Amelia Bedelia. Since she tells everyone her life and her children's lives and her husband's life and her mother-in-law's life rather than letting the class material soak into her aged skin.. I may or may not know she is graduating when I am. Such a good thing to know, right? Yea. I didn't think so either. Anyway, I want to sit next to her at graduation. Why? The same reason I have hairbows, wear tall socks, rewrite rap songs that embrace how white I am and make a wish on any repeated or consecutive number on the clock.. I am weird. What are you going to do? Basically, I want to make her love me so there is no question as to who she is going to share her big day with as she struggles to keep her Depends dry on those really cool fold-out chairs.
These have been my attempts at best friendship over the past couple of weeks:
- Listened to a vent session about her son's girlfriend of three years that she thinks may be a "two-timer."
- Found a cookie recipe suitable for her diabetic husband.
- Introduced her to Quizlet.
- Acted as if her 40,959,458,034,985 questions in class were completely valid.
- Did not cry or stab her when she asked our professor for an extra assignment so she could get more practice on coding data.
- Called out vocabulary to her for her Spanish class that she is taking "for fun." You know. Since people do that.
- Told her about my obsession with my parents and made her really jealous that her kids don't like her that much. Ironically, this made her appreciate me more as a "youngster."
- Allowed her to say the word "youngster" without any visible judgment from my end.
- Complimented her joutfit.
- Let Ed buy her a muffin when I saw her studying in the library.
- Took her husband's business card and agreed to Google him because she thinks he is great.
That is all. You gained nothing from this. Mission complete.