The Awkward Moment When Your Yearbook Drops On Your Head

Photo Credit to  http://edocs.lib.sfu.ca/cgi-bin/Cartoons?CartoonID=6160

              On Thursday, I came home from school extremely exhausted. I had just had a math test first thing that morning, and then right after, I took a Comparative Global Issues Test (which I probably got a C on, if I’m lucky). I was tired and was looking forward to a nice nap. I opened the door to my house, walked to my room, and…

            Tripped over something and landed on my face. I groaned and stood back up, only to fall again by slipping on a sock that I had left strewn on my floor in my rush to get to school that morning. I threw a mini temper tantrum before realizing that the closet space that I call a room was beginning to look more like a garbage dump than a living area. So, I got to work and began cleaning the place, completely forgetting that I was exhausted. I put a load of clothes in the washer, put books on the bookshelf, folded laundry that was supposed to be folded weeks ago but ended up under my bed, and cleaned up my dresser, which was cluttered with hair products and eye contact solution.

            Next, I started clearing out my actual closet, and to my surprise (although I really shouldn’t have been surprised), a book fell on my head, and then a whole bunch of books started raining down on me. After cursing everything around me, I took a look at the books that had tried to kill me.

            Middle School yearbooks.

            Ah, yes, the pain of taking pictures in the middle of your awkward stage. That acne that you thought was under control? It shows back up only on the day of pictures. The flyaway hair you paid extra to stay in place at the salon? Yup, it’s there too, only on the day that you need the perfect picture. Spaghetti sauce on your new shirt? Classic. Patchy eyes because you forgot you had pictures and stayed up late watching TV? They’re there.

            How embarrassing. It kind of makes you wonder years from now when your classmates pull out these random books (or if the books fall on their heads and they decide to open them) if they will look at your picture and go, “Oh hey, I remember her. Gosh, what’s wrong with her shirt? And that hair? Oh my Lord.” Hopefully people have more tact, though, and will go, “Oh, I don’t really remember her, but I’m sure she was somewhat normal.”

            Well, it’s a good thing I was exhausted and didn’t check any other pictures from my embarrassing past, or else I’d probably try to white out all my old photos. The second I finished looking at one of the photos, I got tired and fell asleep.

On the floor of my room.

Guess I just went back to where I started.