Friday, January 18th
So, I guess Ivy and I are officially "a thing." Because of last night...and that super passionate kiss. I mean, there was that New Year's kiss we shared, but it was, you know, New Year's, so those kisses don't really count.
When I got to school this morning, Scarlet came rushing up to me like I was royalty. She went all gushy and wild-eyed, and said she was "so happy for me and Ivy" and that we made "the cutest couple ever." Two other girls said the same thing, which I thought was strange because I don't even know them. Lincoln said, nice going, Cook, and then asked me how far I'd gotten with Ivy, which was just plain ill-mannered. As if I would share the intimate details of my first real relationship with Lincoln! When I told him that, he rolled his eyes and told me I was an ass hat, which wasn't even remotely clever. Whatever.
But I learned one important thing today, and that is, if you are part of a "couple," then you must be attached to your partner for the entire duration of the school day. Which means at break, you must follow your girlfriend to the washroom and wait outside for a very long time while she does whatever it is girls do in there. Then, in English, you must read every note she passes to you, even though they are mostly just pictures of hearts drawn in red felt pen, followed by a lot of exclamation marks. At lunch, you are required to hang out with her as well as all of her girlfriends, and while they all talk non-stop, you must sit there quietly eating your chicken sandwich and try not to notice your friends playing soccer on the field or the fact that they are all getting good and muddy and cheerfully swearing at the ball.
When one of Ivy's friends—Lauren somebody-or-other—grabbed my hand and asked if she could paint my nails with some heinous silver sparkly crap called "Puttin' on the Glitz," I kind of lost it. I said, was she kidding? And then I told her to keep her bottle of "Unicorn Puke" away from me, and Ivy pulled me aside by the sleeve of my jacket and hissed, Jeez, Myles...don't be a dick! That's when I excused myself and went to hide out in the school bathroom. I ended up sitting on the toilet for a full fifteen minutes, while I flipped through an old Chatelaine magazine from 1997.
Maybe this is all part of the "big challenge" that Daisy Archibald foreshadowed during my intuitive reading the other day. Or maybe I should just ask Dad about all this dating stuff. Wait. No! That's a very bad idea. I happen to know that my father didn't really date in high school. He told me he didn't even lose his virginity until he was twenty-three, which is something I would never admit to anyone, especially my teenaged son. To this day, he maintains he had always been waiting for "the right one," but I call bullshit, because my mom told me his first time was with a girl called Wendy Popavich, who had nasty speech impediment and liked to collect those old-school Swedish troll dolls. Supposedly, she had over two thousand of them, and each one had a Nordic name. Sven, Lars, Nils, Britt...that kind of thing. So, yeah. Nice try, Dad.
I did see Norm late tonight, though, when I went out to get some firewood. He was having a cigar and talking to Desmond in the paddock, so I wandered over to say hello, and after a couple of minutes, I guess I let it slip that I officially have a girlfriend now.
Norm asked me how things were going, and I told him about my lunch hour and how I hadn't really been all that stoked about how the day had unfolded.
That's when Norm placed both of his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. Kid? he said. Put your foot down now, otherwise that girl is gonna steal your balls and keep 'em locked away in her purse forever.
And now, as I lay here on my bed, I realize that Norm was right. Hell, I had a confidence spell cast on me last night. I'm supposed to be the invincible Master of my own Destiny! Am I going to let a little incident involving Unicorn puke get the better of me? No. I am NOT. I have decided that things are going to be vastly different at school on Monday. For starters, no one is going to be doing anything with my balls, except for me. Wait. That isn't exactly what I meant. Because, if I'm honest, I can think of some very pleasant things involving my balls that...never mind... I'm tired...and I think my brain is addled.
Sometimes I wish I were still nine-years-old. Back then, all I needed to feel blissfully happy, was a bucket full of Lego and a bowl of Goldfish crackers.
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THE PECULIAR LANGUAGE OF LLAMASHumor
* A Wattpad Editors' Pick (Spring /2019) * *NOW UPDATED EVERY WEDNESDAY* Fourteen-year-old Myles is having a rough time. Not only has his mother run off with her female yoga instructor, but his dad has moved the two of them to a remote island to liv...