I Plead No Contest

I'm finally beginning to realize why the quirky blonde makes me so uncomfortable sometimes. I bump into her and he together at school, and I am determined to not let it bother me. I try to act natural, even though I wish she weren't there.

I take a seat, and she keeps talking.
And talking.
And talking.

In order to get any words in, I have to be louder and more obnoxious. But I can't compete with her in her sassy black skirt and black stillettos. I feel so frumpy in my thrift store sweater. And she keeps talking about guys who hit on her and I feel smaller and smaller. I might as well not even be there.

Any subject I steer the conversation to, she eventually turns back to herself. It is not even a conversation. It is her talking. She crosses her legs and plays with her necklace and I finally just have to give up.

I'm no match for her.
She will always be better.
She will always be quirkier, funnier, wittier, prettier, sexier, louder, perkier, smarter, richer, and just altogether better than I could ever be. It's silly to even think I could ever get someone's attention when she is present.

I ask her what she is doing for Thanksgiving, hoping for some reason that she's going to Guam or at least somewhere far away until Monday. No, she's going across the tracks where some guy will get drunk and hit on her, like the other 3 guys that hit on her just this week. She returns the question to me, but only long enough to put in her two cents and talk about herself some more.

I keep looking at the clock and wondering how long she's going to stay and chat, because I'd rather leave if she's going to stay. I can't stand it, but I'm trying really hard not to let it show.

Now I'm getting paranoid that people will notice that I don't want her there, and they'll notice how I don't even begin to compare with her, and they'll notice how paranoid I'm becoming. I hate this. It's stupid. It's hard to manage knowing that you're not better at anything than someone.

As soon as she left, I felt a weight being lifted from my chest, like I could breathe again. It's terrible. I don't not like this woman. I actually kind of like her. I just have a hard time playing second banana all the time. It sucks.