Yesterday one of my teachers asked me to help him with a class he’s giving to high school students. I, being the adorable lady (and teacher’s ass-kisser) I am, agreed.
I don’t mean to sound smarter than I actually am; it’s not as if I was going to give the class. The man is teaching them AutoCAD and wanted some help answering questions the kids (did you notice the word I use? “kids”… Hi, I’m twenty and I’m such a grown-up!) may have about the software.
Since the moment I walked in, this guy, the typical cute popular guy (you already know exactly the kind of guy I’m talking about) started talking to me. He asked me dumb questions about the house he was designing, told me even dumber knock-knock jokes… Let’s just say it; he was like totally flirting with me *insert a few giggles and a couple of dead neurons here*.
The story gets a bit pathetic, though, since…I flirted back…
I didn’t care the dude was seventeen, nor did I care I was just feeding that disgusting ego of his… And I cared even less that he wasn’t even my type.
No, no. I had to flirt back. That fat nerdy fourteen-year-old girl inside me begged me to do it.
You would have done the same thing... Right?