High School Tale Tuesdays — Stuffing My Bra

So, I decided that once a week I am going to post a high school experience that either makes me laugh or makes me cringe. I have named it “High School Tale Tuesdays“. I probably shouldn’t even delve into those four years but then again, I have no problem revealing my shortcomings. Would I ever want to go back in time and change things? No. Making it through four years of high school and not getting shoved into a locker by the meanest girl in the school gave me kahunas to use in later life.

This week I will tell the story of George the drummer and my first make-out session.

I was in 10th grade when I finally noticed that boys were sort of cute. Mostly they were cute because they were shorter than I was at that time. I never got any taller than that giant 5’3″ skinny gal I was in my sophomore year, but the boys did. Everyone but George.

George was short. Really short. I heard that he never really grew more than 5’2″ tall in his adult life. However, he was a drummer in the school band and had that rock and roll look that this nerdy, preppy young lady thought was simply groovy. Can I say “dreamy” and not sound like Marcia Brady?

Nancy was “dating” George. She was also a sophomore and kicked me every time she got on the bus on the way to school. I put my leg out every day to save her time. I wish I knew about shin guards back then. Not too sure why she kicked me so much but I think that it was a combination of her dislike that I always read a book on the school bus and the fact that she knew had eyes for her boy, George.

My competitive nature didn’t kick in until I was well into my thirties, so I didn’t intend to fight for George’s attention. Nancy was already bruising my shin on a daily basis, so there was no reason for me to encourage her to start hurting my other limbs.

George talked to me in band class. I wanted to pee my pants every time he spoke to me. I’d go home and write his name in my diary with a big heart around it. Then I’d go and read some 500 page novel and forget about him until the next band class.

I told him that my favorite band was Boston. I didn’t even know who they were (although they are one of my favorite classic rock bands today!) but I saw their name on his t-shirt. He perked up. The dork liked rock ‘n roll? (No, George, the dork had been taking piano lessons since the age of 6 and liked Beethoven and Chopin. No rock and roll in my house.) He then talked to me almost every day after mentioning his favorite band. I was now in heaven even when Nancy came on the bus and kicked me.

A month went by and George and I became friends. Well, sort of friends. He waved to me in the hall and gave me the thumbs up and said, “YEAH! Boston” every time he saw me in the music room. How would I explain this to my Mother? I just didn’t.

Nancy broke up with George in the spring of my freshman year. She found someone taller and stopped kicking my shin. I was thankful for that tall guy she found.

It was a Friday afternoon and George walked up to me in the closet where we stored our instruments and said, “YEAH, Boston! Want to stay up to school with me today??”

What? Stay after school? I had homework and projects to work on. Yes, even on a Friday I did homework. What would I do after school with George? Did he want me to help him with his school work or………?

“Um, yeah but I have to be home by 3 o’clock.” I stuttered.

“Well, that only gives us 20 minutes. Just be late. Tell your parents you got detention.” he replied without a thought that the word “detention” was completely foreign to me.

“They wouldn’t believe that. Well, I really want to hang out after school so I will tell my parents I have to help clean the library, OK?” I just had no clue how to be cool.

“OOOOK…..Boston, YEAH! I will meet you out back by the football field. We will make-out.”

George walked away flipping his drum sticks in the air. I once again wanted to pee my pants. This time not from excitement….mostly because I’d never kissed a boy before. I was totally screwed. On top of it, I looked so dumb in my shiny polyester shirt with cats all over it. I was wearing my sister’s bra and had no boobs. I wore the bra with that shirt because I didn’t want anyone to see the tell-tale lines of an undershirt. Yes, I was a pirate’s nightmare…no chest.

I panicked. All the girl that kissed the cool boys had boobs. I had no boobs and had never kissed a boy. I had straight A’s….on my report card and in my bra size.

Before school ended I went into the bathroom to put on some Bonne Belle cheek blush (I’m positive I looked like a clown) and brush my teeth. Fresh breath and a rosy cheeks might keep George from noticing I was flat chested.

Suddenly I had a thought. Not a really smart one, but my wheels were turning. I went into a stall and started unrolling toilet paper. Quickly I started stuffing it in my bra. Suddenly I had boobs. They weren’t exactly Charmin boobs. School toilet paper was itchy and rough. So, I had itchy, rough boobs….but I had boobs. I looked in the mirror.

“This girl has a chest. Boston, YEAH!” I said to myself.

I walked out of the bathroom with a confidence I only had in the classroom taking a test. The bell rang. It was the end of school and I headed to the football field with my lumpy, scratchy boobs and fresh breath.

There stood George. A rock and roll vision with his thumb up. Couldn’t really tell, but it could have been his middle finger. I took my glasses off to look “cooler” and I really couldn’t see well.

We sat beneath the bleachers. (I kept asking if we’d get in trouble for being there) George made some small talk about some new album he bought and then sat closer to me. He leaned in to kiss me and my nose smashed into his. So far, kissing sucked.

Finally we kissed and it wasn’t so bad. George smelled like peppermint gum. I’m not sure I saw stars because I was busy trying to copy what he was doing. The tongue thing was pretty confusing but I went with it.

Suddenly he looked down at my shirt. I figured he was so impressed that I was chesty.

“Why do you have toilet paper coming out of your shirt??” he asked with his squeaky voice.

If I ever wanted to be one with the pavement, it was then. My hands got sweaty, my face must have flushed to the palest white (despite all the blush I had on) and I quickly came up with a lame excuse for my stuffed shirt.

“Oh, I’m just getting over a cold, George. I ran out of tissues so I got some toilet paper from the lav. Didn’t know where to put it.” I wanted to run. Fast.

“Oh, cool. That’s cool! Yeah.” George was spectacular at conversation.

A few minutes later we got up, he gave me a hug and I walked home. On the way, I pulled out all the tissue from my bra. I didn’t want anyone else to see where I stored my cold supplies.

I got a call from George over the weekend. He said we should meet at the football field again. I think George needed tissues.

Monday I got on the school bus, sort of excited that I had a semi-boyfriend. Or so I thought. Nancy got on the bus and made a beeline for me. I didn’t have my leg out because she’d been so nice to me since she started dating the tall guy.

“Did you kiss my boyfriend?” she yelled.

“No. I don’t even know your boyfriend.” I shuddered. I tucked my leg under the seat.

“George was my boyfriend. That means NO one can kiss him. Understand??” I hated her.

“Oh.” That was all I could stutter before she reached over and took my lunch. She took my lunch. That hurt more than a shin kick. Nancy was officially on my list of who I’ll never like as long as I live.

That day in music class I told George I couldn’t kiss him again. He was off limits.

“Wow. No Way. That’s not cool at all,” he said with his usually glazed look.

That was it. The big break-up. Over. Done. One make-out session and a stuffed bra. I lived to tell.

Hey, Nancy…I wear a really damned perky 38C bra now and I saw you on Classmates.com. Um, I’m really sorry that you aren’t able to shed your massive post baby weight. It must be hard to be so gray. You had nice hair in high school. Sorry that your husband drives you nuts and you call your kids “rug rats”. You sound so miserable.

Could it be payback for kicking the crap out of my shin?