She's Good With Her Hands

I would like to take a moment and tell you all how my first day of school went.

I was prepared.  I laid out my clothes the night before.  I had all my school supplies packed in my new bag.  I had my light rail route planned out.  I had to work in the morning, but the kids were great all day.  I left their house feeling confident and excited to embark on a new semester of academia.  

I found my class easily enough, got a great seat somewhat towards the back but still in the middle so I wouldn't be tempted to drift in concentration (not that it takes a seating chart to keep me from day dreaming).  A fairly cute guy even sat next to me.  It had the makings of a great first day of school.

And then my political science professor decided we needed to learn how to... what it's like when... ok I'm not totally sure exactly what he was trying to teach us (I may have been daydreaming).  Essentially we had to split up in groups and within those groups find one person that either needed a date, a job, or a raise.  When said person was determined, the group would have to sell that person to the rest of the class, lobbying the fact that they needed it more than anyone else.

I'm not good in groups as it is.  The mere mention of the word gets my heart beating faster and my hands go clammy.  I don't participate in class, ESPECIALLY a political class.  I was already out of my element.  It was most likely this haze of awkwardness that leaves the next details a little difficult to remember.  Suffice it to say that I suddenly found myself volunteered as desperately needing a date.  And the cute boy sitting next me?  He was asking me, pen and paper in hand, what exactly I like most about myself.  I cooly replied "I think I'll need a class of wine and some soft music to answer that question."  He did not think this was funny.  Nor did he find any of my other jokes in the least bit entertaining.

I told him I'm a writer, I love to read and that I find myself fairly intelligent, though not pretentious.  This is what he chose to relay to the class in an effort to "sell" me: "Well, she's cute.  I mean, let's be honest.  And she speaks French [I don't], and come on guys, that's pretty hot.  She plays the piano, so she's good with her hands, if ya know what I mean."  He then winked, I blushed and the class "ooh'd."

To top it off, when it came time to chose, I received one vote.  I was in a group of 6.  Of those 6, one person voted for me.  FROM MY OWN GROUP!  My self esteem has officially plummeted.  Thanks Political Science 101!

When I told my mom the story of being sold in class, she replied the best way a mom can reply:  "Well if they try to do it again, you tell them you're not interested in human trafficking."

{photo found here}