The Story of Jon and Lindsey: The Second Date

As I previously mentioned, after our first date, it was all I could do to not find some way to spend every spare moment I had with Jon. I was trying to not be obvious that I liked him, but that pretty much failed. We were having lots of fun together, and I'm a pretty forward person so I didn't mind if he noticed I was falling for him (or let's pretend that I didn't mind). The only problem was that he wasn't asking me on a date! And I know I could have asked him on a second, but when you're kinda' clueless as to how the guy feels and you're the one who already asked him out on the first, you want him to be the one to ask you out on the second to see some reciprocation of feeling.

A few weeks after the first date, Jon and I were both at our ward's treat night (Ward Treat Night: Mormon singles ward gathering that occurs every Sunday night wherein sweets are consumed and members of the opposite sex stalk one another to find/wish for a potential date for the following Friday). I went up to him and asked him what his week looked like. He told me. Then, being polite, he asked me what my week looked like. I told him. Did I happen to casually make note in my brain that both our Friday evenings were free and that if he liked me he'd be smart and ask me on a date because that'd be the coolest thing in the world?

Naw. But for some reason, when my roommate later asked me on Monday if I was free to have a girl's night on Friday, I found it really hard to say yes (after all, you can't say "No, I have plans," when you really don't have plans, but are kinda' hoping that you will have plans because you happen to know that a guy you like could ask you out on that day if he wanted to).

Then Tuesday came, and Jon was helping me carry a microwave into my apartment and set it down on the counter where I wanted it and turned around and asked me if I was doing anything on Friday.

"Ah.....yes. Friday. Yes--I actually do already have plans then. Sorry, mate! Why? Did you need help re-configuring the plumbing in your apartment or something?"

That is what I should have said. Except for maybe the part about the plumbing. But that is not what I said. Instead, this is what happened:

"Hold on one minute." Lindsey whips her phone out of her pocket and turns around, her back to Jon. She calls her roommate.

Ring....Ring....Ring....

Roommate: "Hello?"

Lindsey: "Hi, Roommate! How's it goin?"

Roommate: "Good! What's up?"

Lindsey: "You know that girl's night thing we were going to do on Friday?"

Roommate: "Yeah."

Lindsey: "Could we possibly do it on Thursday instead?"

Roommate: "Sure!"

Lindsey: "Okay. Awesome. I'll see you when you get home then!"

Lindsey turns back around and faces Jon. "Looks like I'm all free on Friday! What's up?"

Luckily, he really did want to ask me out on a date and not just for some help with his plumbing. And so Friday came and we had lots of fun! It was simple: we just made some treats and ran them around to some people, but it allowed us to talk and get to know each other better. At the end of the night when we were wrapping things up at his apartment, he asked me to hold on one second and then went back into his room. Whatdaya know, but out he came holding a bouquet of tulips for me. "I just thought it was sad that you've never received flowers from a boy before," he explained, referring to a previous conversation.

I've never thought that rescheduling a girl's night could be a bad idea since, and looking at how things went from there, I don't know if I ever will.

Update: After reading this blog post, Jon was quick to remind me that once we started dating, I mentioned to him that I had touched his arm on this date and was impressed because of how big his muscles are. You can see that the details he remembers are slightly different from the ones I take note of. He is currently hiding under the coffee table with embarrassment as I write this, but isn't embarrassing your spouse one of the better parts of being married? Jon disagrees.

7th Graders and Curls

We talk about a lot of things you'd expect us to talk about in my 7th grade English classes, but one of my classes loves talking about something you wouldn't quite expect: my hair. It all started when Jon decided to buy me a curling iron for my birthday. Excited for the challenge (it's always a challenge for me when it comes to using beauty products and styling tools), I woke up early one morning shortly after receiving the gift and curled my hair before heading off to school.

That day at school was fairly normal. I think I got a few complements on my hair from some of the teachers, but it wasn't like my hair was making headlines. That started the following week when, in this particular class, I had one of my students raise his hand at the beginning of class and say:

"Hey, Mrs. Self--you should do that hair curling thing more often."

Because my hair has everything to do with reading Phineas Gage and writing expository papers.

The class readily agreed with the student, so I told said student that, just for him, I'd try making the time to curl my hair the next morning.

Fast forward to the next morning. I'm feeling a bit sick and decide that I'd rather get the extra sleep than wake-up earlier to allow time for me to curl my hair. Well, that didn't bode so well with said student.

First thing at the beginning of class from the mouth of said student: "Mrs. Self! You didn't curl your hair!"

"Yeah!" the class exclaimed.

"I didn't," I confessed. "I wasn't feeling very well this morning and decided to sleep instead."

"Oh. Question: is this what your hair looks like normally?"

"Yes. Well, actually, no. Kind of. I have to--" I paused, realizing how ridiculous it was that we were discussing my personal grooming habits in an English class. "This is totally off topic! So pull out your books and turn to page 24..."

The next morning I decided that if this was such a big deal, that I'd better take the time to curl my hair. Within 20 seconds of entering the school, one of the students from this class saw me.

"Mrs. Self!!! You curled your hair!!!"

"I did!" I replied.

"Said student is going to be so happy!!!" she exclaimed, stars in her eyes.

Later that day at lunch, one of the faculty members who works in this class with me saw me in the lunch room and exclaimed a similar cry.

The time of this class finally arrives. I start things up as normal and the kids silent read for the first 15 minutes or so. Then, I call everyone to attention to go over some announcements. Before I even say anything, several hands shoot up into the air. I try (very unsuccessfully) to hold back a smile and tell them to hold their questions 'till the end.

I finish giving the announcements and purposefully call on a student other than the one obsessed with my hair. Regardless, the comment is the same.

"You curled your hair!"

"That's what I was going to say!" cries the obsessed student.

Now there's no point in my trying to hold back the smile, for the whole class seems to be celebrating my accomplishment with a curling iron. I think they might have even cheered for me.

Ever since that day, if I curl my hair or try something new with it, I will get compliments on it shouted emphatically across the room before class starts or whispered to me quietly while I pass out papers. There's a lot of stressful things about purposefully placing yourself in the midst of a room full of hormone-raging pre-teens every single day. Most of the time, when I tell people what age group I teach their eyes get wide and they tell me I'm crazy. I have buckets full of experiences that would suggest that these people are right; I have days when I'm more than willing to agree with them. But what a lot of people miss seeing in these cute little souls is that underneath all the attitude, misbehavior, and noncompliance is a whole lot of love, and when you're the English teacher who gets a curling iron for your birthday and uses it, you feel a whole lot of it. It's one of the more selfish reasons for why I teach.