Just the other day, a friend of mine and I were coming back home from college in the train. I love hanging at the entrance.
No, I aint suicidal. I just love the breeze in my hair.
And she said something to me that stuck throughout the day.
She said, giggling slightly, “oh god, sam, grow up.”
I’d been playing with the handles, making weird shapes and making her laugh. Last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime, now, was it?
But it stuck not because it hurt.
It didn’t hurt. I take that as a compliment now.
It stuck because I had a strange sense of déjà vu when I heard that. Like I’d heard it before.
Then, it came flowing in.
Me and my mum, shopping in the mall, when I ripped a toupee of a mannequin’s head, put it over my head, and started pirouetting in from of her. She stood, shaking her head at me.
“manu, grow up, beta.”
Me and my best friend, at our favorite hang-out, me making weird poses at the people who were walking around and making us double-over with laughter.
“Sammy, grow up! Haha!”
Me and my ex-boyfriend, at the movies, me sticking my tongue at the rude usher at the entrance.
“baby, grow up! Haha!”
Since when is being goofy considered childish? There was this one time, a dark dark time, when serious girls were in vogue. The overly mature, tongue-clickin’, head-smackin’ chicks who thought they owned the world and were entirely perfect for this stupid world. In such a world, its damn near impossible to be liked by girls by being goofy. And being hated aint a good feeling, I’m tellin’ ya.
Guys love it, they eat it up. They want someone to be goofy with.
They want girls who’ll OD on their makeup just to make goofy faces and laugh at themselves.
They want girls who can race them AND win at go-karting.
They want girls who aren’t afraid to take the first step.
Wow, I’m awesome.
It is super fun to be taken care of once in a while. It’s nice to be the immature one.
So, all those who think I’m being childish when I’m goofy, well, you can suck it.
No, mommy, not you, mommy. I love you, mommy. Don’t throw me out.