This fascinating tale, an entire week old now, is comprised of several seemingly unrelated events. The first is that Jenna went home last weekend. The second is that I have bad eyesight. The third is that making things from box mixes doesn’t always turn out so well. Got it? Ok.
Just kidding. You know, I am actually not sure if I should share this story. It will do nothing to help alleviate the rumors that I’m here at ABC ignoring my psych homework and doing weird things with my “interesting” friends. Ah well. You may draw your own conclusions. Here’s the story.
1. Jenna Leaves.
Last week, my roomie ditched me so she could go visit her family. Well, “ditched” is a harsh word. She went to visit her family, at any rate, leaving me in DP308 all by myself from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening. You know what you do when your roomie goes home? You have a sleepover, that’s what you do. So, being the normal person I am, that’s what I did.
“My roommate is leaving for the weekend,” I said to Rachel Thursday afternoon. “You should come over.” (Coincidentally, Rachel was with whom I stayed when I previewed last March. Thus it seemed fitting for me to host her.)
“Okay. And we should bake something. Muffins? Yes?”
I had been in a baking mood for a while, so I acquiesced readily.
“Blueberry? Or chocolate chip?” Rachel continued. I threw in a vote for blueberry, because I just love blueberry muffins. Rachel was leaning toward chocolate chip. She was struck with a moment of inspiration. “Why don’t we put chocolate chips in the blueberry muffins?”
Being a typical girl, I will eat chocolate with anything. Ergo I readily acquiesced to this suggestion as well. Kristen and Katie–who went boot shopping without me and got the last two pairs of matching boots and are all attractive now–were charged with the task of finding blueberry muffin mix and chocolate chips.
Friday arrived; Jenna left; Rachel and I made blueberry muffins and had a sleepover. The muffins were pretty good, though not too remarkable. For one, it was a box mix. For two, the chocolate chips were a little unexpected and we didn’t know what to think. For three, I think I left them in a minute or two longer than necessary. However, we were having a sleepover and we got our baking fix and it was fun and they were good enough for us.
2. I Have Bad Eyes.
The Saturday after this fun muffin party, I headed to the library to get my math homework done. Kristen and Matthew were working, so I got the math book from the reserve closet and hunkered down to figure out proportions and multiply decimals and convert from fractions to percentages and all that fun stuff that I haven’t consciously thought about too much since 5th grade. I was sitting there, just being a studious student studying, when I heard Matthew begin to make rude personal remarks.
“Why is she hunched so close to her notebook?” he questioned quite derisively. I turned and fixed him with a stern, warning eye. It bothered him not at all. Instead, he proceeded to imitate me, grabbing a notebook and pen and pretending to write like I was.
“Hey,” I protested. “I have bad eyes, OK?”
This merely fueled his belligerency. He proceeded to remove the scissors from the Official Container Holding Scissors and Whatnot for the Usage of the Library Patrons, held them to his face, and said, “Look everyone! I need glasses!”
This, as you can imagine, hurt my feelings incredibly. Hurt? Worse than hurt. Crushed. Fractured. Splintered in a thousand jagged pieces.
Fortunately for me, Kristen, my wonderful RA, was also working in the library. And she had a plan. “This is a heart issue,” she whispered. “We can infract him later.”
As soon as the library closed, Kristen found me in my room where I was practicing violin with Katie. She held up a pink infraction slip. “Do you want to write it, or should I?” She asked.
Hey. I wasn’t about to let an opportunity to compose an infraction just slip by. Hastily locating a pen, I jotted the following words.
Because it was Saturday night, we thought it would be a good idea to walk over to McCarrell Hall–the boys’ dorm–and personally deliver it right away. Why did we think this was a good idea? The bigger question is why did I let them–them being Kristen, Katie, Megan, and Ashley…at least I think; it was a week ago, remember–convince me that the message would be most effective if I acted legit upset? At any rate, I agreed that both of these were good ideas, and thusly we headed over to McCarrell, fake crying on the way.
Now, girls aren’t allowed past the lounge, but the head RA’s apartment opens into the entrance hall, so we knew we could get him to get Matthew for us. Since McCarrell isn’t a very popular hanging-out spot, we weren’t too worried about an audience.
We got to McCarrell, momentarily paused to question the wisdom of this plan, stopped questioning, opened the door–and discovered a crowd of people in the lounge. Great. I turned my face away from them and made fake sobbing sounds. “It just hurts so bad,” I whimpered into Megan’s shoulder. Wiping invisible tears off my face, I added, “and I wish all these people weren’t here right now.” (And let it be known I really did wish that.)
Kristen pounded on Isaiah’s door. “We need to see Matthew. It’s serious.”
Matthew took forever to get down there, meaning I stood in the entrance to McCarrell for a full seven minutes fake crying while the other girls stifled laughter. He finally arrived, at which point Kristen handed him the infraction we had so painstakingly written.
“Is this all?” he queried, quite seriously astonished. “You didn’t bring me cookies? …why else would you even be over here?”
“He doesn’t even care about my feelings!” I wailed dramatically.
He gazed at me apathetically and waved the infraction. “I’ll put it in my scrapbook.”
Walking away from the dorm, I turned to the friends who had encouraged me to participate in this odd activity. “Guys. Did I really just fake cry in the boys’ dorm for like ten minutes?”
“That was really weird.”
3. Box Mix Muffins Sometimes Just Taste Mediocre
Glancing at my desk Sunday morning, I noticed the two remaining muffins from the Friday night sleepover. I decided to give them away on our van ride to church. Grabbing the Walmart bag I had put them in–lacking any Tupperware, you see–I headed to find Katie and Kristen. I believe I was actually ready before them this morning, and thus stood waiting in the hall for them to be ready to leave.
“I still have leftover muffins,” I casually remarked. “I was thinking about giving them to the guys on the way to church.”
Now, what I am about to quote is merely an approximation of the particular words employed, because I really have no recollection of the actual exchange of sentences following my casual declaration. What I do remember quite clearly is that both Kristen and Katie were less than enthusiastic about the tastiness of the muffins we had so carefully concocted.
“Ehh. I wouldn’t bother.”
“Plus, they’ve been sitting for two days. If they weren’t that good to begin with, they will be even worse now.”
“Plus, you only have two, and we have three guys going with us.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t do it.”
“No, don’t do it.”
“Ummm…okay. Yeah. Fer sure,” I responded. The problem was, however, that I already had the eminently un-classy Walmart muffin bag in my hand. I sort of scooted it behind my violin as we made our way down the stairs, hoping it would be inconspicuous. In the van, I placed it on the floor by the driver’s seat. There was a basket of other stuff there already, so hopefully it wouldn’t be noticeable. We made out way to church, and I did my best to forget about the whole affair.
I saw the plastic bag in all its glory as we re-entered the van following the worship service. All the terrible thoughts I had had before flooded back into my mind. If my MOM had made those muffins, she wouldn’t be ashamed to give them to anyone! I thought with despair. I have failed in Basic Womanhood 101!! I turned to Kristen, quite miserable. “What should I do with the stinkin’ muffins?” I whispered in depression.
Kristen’s eyes lit up with an idea. “Let’s give them to Matthew and Isaiah,” she whispered back.
I saw the beauty of her plan immediately. “Because Matthew totally deserves a disgusting muffin!” I replied. Phew. That issue was taken care of.
When we got into the dining hall for lunch, I transferred the muffins from the oh-so-classy Walmart bag to even classier Styrofoam plates I lifted from the dessert bar. Kristen caught Isaiah’s eye across and beckoned him over to where we were standing. Now, I suppose Kristen and Isaiah are friends, but the kind of friends where they do the opposite of whatever the other one says to do. Therefore, Isaiah merely shook his head and settled himself more firmly in his seat. We motioned to the plates of muffins I held. He remained still.
“Fine,” we muttered. “No muffins for him. I hope he would have thought they were delicious.”
I put the muffin plates on the table and began eating my lunch. A few minutes passed, then we heard Logan suddenly exclaim, “Whoa, muffins! Where’d you get muffins?”
“Ummm…someone made them,” I mumbled.
“What are you doing with them?” he asked, hopeful.
“Oh, nothing in particular…” we replied.
“Can I have one?”
Katie and I glanced at each other dubiously. “You probably don’t want to,” we attempted to discourage him. “They were pretty mediocre.”
“But they’re muffins.”
“You know what, sure. Go ahead,” I finally capitulated. “Just don’t judge me on my baking skills or lack thereof.”
He took a muffin and pronounced it good.
“You’re crazy,” we shrugged.
I took the other muffin over to the table where Matthew and Isaiah were sitting and cleared my throat pretentiously.
“As a symbol of my forgiveness and kindness,” I began formally, “even though you crushed my spirit in an extremely painful way,” (hey, he needs to know he can’t treat people like that!) “I have brought you this muffin.” I handed the plate to Matthew and glared as Isaiah, using my best Kristen imitation. “He doesn’t get one because he said he didn’t want one.” I did my best to flounce off gracefully–which is rather difficult in a crowded dining hall.
“You know, Logan,” Kristen remarked back at the table, “you should tell Isaiah how delicious your muffin was.”
“Oh, it was!” he agreed. “But why am I telling Isaiah particularly?”
“It was supposed to be for him,” Kristen informed him.
Logan’s eyes widened in hurt and he glanced around the table in dismay. “You mean this wasn’t for me?”
We looked at each other.
“It’s a long story,” I finally replied. “I’ll blog about it.”