So, slight change in plans. I've decided to extend the contests on all the entries until the 25th to give people a chance to enter. I want everyone who wants the opportunity to enter to have a chance. So I'll announce the winners of all the contests on June 25th.
Now, on to the humiliation!
Since my friends were kind enough to let me share their humiliating and hilarious stories, I figure it's only fair for me to share one of my own.
I'm pretty sure I've shared my "Never fear! Robin's here!" story, and my sad story about the girl who wouldn't give me the time of day because I didn't have a car, so I'm going to have to take you a little further back to find an appropriately devastating story.
It begins at the 8th grade Halloween dance. Now, before I start, the thing you have to understand is that when it came to dating and sex and all of those things, my understanding of them was limited. I knew of them on a rational level, but the abstracts of it all hadn't really sunk in. What I knew in 8th grade was that boys were supposed to "like" girls and a boy's very masculinity was tied to whether or not girls "liked" him back. Since I was neither athletic or outgoing, I knew I needed to have a girlfriend to keep from becoming the object of ridicule.
Back then, I had a lot of girl friends as well as guy friends. I had always managed to maintain friendships across the different cliques despite not really belonging to any of them. My best girl friend was a girl named Lexi. She was as close to a boy as a girl could be. She was hilarious and crude and fun to talk to. I'd harbored a "crush" on her all year, and at the eighth grade dance, I had decided I was going to tell her I "liked" her and suggest that she should be my girlfriend. Now, I knew she usually dated older guys. Guys in high school! And I knew I couldn't compete with them, but we were such good friends that I figured she would see the logic in us going out.
I was wrong.
Back to the dance. I'm pretty sure I was a vampire. Or maybe a pirate. I honestly can't remember. What is seared into my brain is the moment I asked her to go out with me. Not the words I said or the music that was playing or even what she was wearing. It was the look on her face. The smirk that became a smile that became a laugh that became a look of pure terror as she realized that I wasn't pranking her. As she realized I was dead serious.
Then came the pity. The, "I like you as a friend." Standing on the periphery of the dance floor where all my friends could see, I was laughed at and friendzoned. But that wasn't the worst part.
See, for someone like me, someone who was intellectually advanced but emotionally retarded, that very first real rejection was worse than a rusty nail through the scrotum. It was worse than being swarmed by fire ants in the hot, Florida sun. It was the most mortifying moment of my short, tragic life.
So I did what any other 13 year-old boy who'd just been rejected in full view of everyone he knew would do. I started bawling, ran into the bathroom, and locked myself in the handicapped stall.
It took three of my friends and a priest to coax me out. Lexi and I didn't talk much after that. FML.
How about I give a copy of FML today? I've got a ton and I love giving them out. All you have to do is tell me your favorite halloween costume in the comments.
And come back tomorrow when Emilia Rhodes, the amazing editor without whom FML would never have exited, shares an FML story of her own.