I sent out a story today. Not that amazing in and of itself, but considering that I've been a bit gun-shy lo these past months, it is a small deal to me. I know it's wimpy, but I like to leave a little time for the "L" on my forehead to fade before putting myself out there again. All of which reminds me...
...of that one guy at high school garage parties. You know that guy? The one who would ask a girl to dance, be rejected, turn to her best friend, be rejected, turn to the next girl, be rejected, and continue to work his way down the line of girls sitting in the folding chairs, all of whom inevitably rejected him? Every once in awhile—like at one party out of eight—he'd luck out and the first girl's best friend would take pity and say, "Okay," and he wouldn't have to endure the endless smackdown.
I always secretly admired that guy.
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