So when I was in seventh grade, I loved Mrs. Wampler's geometry class and everyone in it. I especially loved Mike Hardwick. He had long auburn hair, soulful eyes, and was the funniest guy in our class. I used to figure out what Mrs. Wampler was describing and then stare longingly at Mike, hoping he'd look back at me. I'm sure I had his name written in the margins of my notes. I wasn't the only one. Mike Hardwick was a hunk.
One day, as Mrs. Wampler was lecturing, I heard and felt a long deep grumble in my gut. This was not good. I tried to wait it out, but realized less than half-way through class it wasn't going to wait.
I sat in the front row opposite the door and seats were packed tightly into the room. If I was going to get up, I'd have to walk right in front of Mrs. Wampler. As I was taller than she was, it was going to be hard to be unnoticed. Eventually, I gave in, got up, and tried to walk unobtrusively across the front of the class with short, shuffling steps and my butt muscles clenched. Mike lounged in his seat right next to the door, his hand on the latch, as if he'd bolt and ditch class at any moment. He looked at me with those soulful eyes and I fumbled with my pencil, trying to make it last a moment longer.
Mrs. Wampler had a sign-out sheet under the light switch, so I bent over carefully to put my name on it. As I wrote my name, I was beginning to believe that no one was paying any attention to my plight. Just then, Mike stuck the pointed end of his pencil into the back of my leg, just under my miniskirt. I was so surprised, I let go of the loudest and longest fart of my entire life.
I dropped my pencil, ran out the door, down the hall, and into the empty bathroom where I stayed as long as I could, imagining the echo, the smell, and the laughter I left behind. I thought I could still hear them laughing, even Mrs. Wampler, all the way down the hall and around the corner. I wanted to die.
Eventually, I had to go back into that classroom. I tried to be quiet, but when I opened the classroom door, there was a total silence at first, then one person, Mike Hardwick, laughed out loud despite the glare he received from Mrs. Wampler. I made myself stand up straight and walk across the room in front of her and sit down in my seat. I couldn't make eye contact with anyone. I'm not sure I talked for the rest of that day.
I never looked at Mike Hardwick face to face again. I tried not to look down at my shoes, but just not at his face. He never spoke to me either, not to make fun of me or to apologize. We even graduated from high school together. We just pretended the other didn't exist.
Sometimes, when I'm about to get up in front of a crowd and speak, I still think that I might fart instead. It makes me wonder at those women who insist that a man's sense of humor is his greatest trait. I wonder if Mike Hardwick is still funny.
Thank you for listening, jb
One day, as Mrs. Wampler was lecturing, I heard and felt a long deep grumble in my gut. This was not good. I tried to wait it out, but realized less than half-way through class it wasn't going to wait.
I sat in the front row opposite the door and seats were packed tightly into the room. If I was going to get up, I'd have to walk right in front of Mrs. Wampler. As I was taller than she was, it was going to be hard to be unnoticed. Eventually, I gave in, got up, and tried to walk unobtrusively across the front of the class with short, shuffling steps and my butt muscles clenched. Mike lounged in his seat right next to the door, his hand on the latch, as if he'd bolt and ditch class at any moment. He looked at me with those soulful eyes and I fumbled with my pencil, trying to make it last a moment longer.
Mrs. Wampler had a sign-out sheet under the light switch, so I bent over carefully to put my name on it. As I wrote my name, I was beginning to believe that no one was paying any attention to my plight. Just then, Mike stuck the pointed end of his pencil into the back of my leg, just under my miniskirt. I was so surprised, I let go of the loudest and longest fart of my entire life.
I dropped my pencil, ran out the door, down the hall, and into the empty bathroom where I stayed as long as I could, imagining the echo, the smell, and the laughter I left behind. I thought I could still hear them laughing, even Mrs. Wampler, all the way down the hall and around the corner. I wanted to die.
Eventually, I had to go back into that classroom. I tried to be quiet, but when I opened the classroom door, there was a total silence at first, then one person, Mike Hardwick, laughed out loud despite the glare he received from Mrs. Wampler. I made myself stand up straight and walk across the room in front of her and sit down in my seat. I couldn't make eye contact with anyone. I'm not sure I talked for the rest of that day.
I never looked at Mike Hardwick face to face again. I tried not to look down at my shoes, but just not at his face. He never spoke to me either, not to make fun of me or to apologize. We even graduated from high school together. We just pretended the other didn't exist.
Sometimes, when I'm about to get up in front of a crowd and speak, I still think that I might fart instead. It makes me wonder at those women who insist that a man's sense of humor is his greatest trait. I wonder if Mike Hardwick is still funny.
Thank you for listening, jb
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