craschworks

When I was in high school, I had a crush on Samantha Marshall. She was smart, funny, ambitious. Not only that, she was beautiful–she had jet black hair to her waist, a pert nose, and a slim figure. I sat behind her in my Spanish class.

Unfortunately, she was a year older than me. I was a gawky junior, terribly shy and self-conscious.

One of our assignments was to write a humorous story in Spanish and read it to the class.
My turn came up. I sat on a high stool, facing the class. I began reading the story.

Lo and behold, they loved it! As I read the story, more and more smiles appeared on everyone's faces. Kids who didn't normally pay attention, sat up, enraptured. Samantha, who sat near the front row, laid her head down on her desk, muffling her giggles. Only Mr. Kytle seemed oddly distressed.

My confidence building, I read the story with increasing flourish. As I neared the end of the story, some of the ink was smudged, so I lifted the paper closer to my face.

It was then that I noticed that my pants had a 4 inch split from crotch to bottom. My legs akimbo, I had been flashing the entire class with my Fruit of the Looms for the past 5 minutes.

Mortified, I slunk back to my desk as the class laughed uproariously.

Despite my faux pas, Samantha, impressed by my poise, sat by me at lunch. We become so engrossed in conversation that we missed our post lunch classes. Thus began a steamy, passionate affair that lasted….

Oh, that last paragraph's a lie. Sadly, Samantha graduated before I overcame my shyness. I think she was only vaguely aware of me, as we shared only that Spanish class together. Last I heard, she's now a doctor somewhere.

Thankfully, I'm not so shy anymore. But I still haven't lost my touch for bumbling dramatically in front of women I'm trying to impress.