The Daily Wonderings of Lavender Blue

As the name of this thing states, this is about my daily wonderings. I called it a 'thing', because I'm not quite sure what it is, exactly. Maybe it should be a blog, maybe not. Either way, whatever it is, it's about me. Lavender Blue. I'm sure you know that's not my real name, but let's just pretend that it is (because I believe my real name is pretty stupid-sounding and I'd use any other name to avoid saying it. Not that I don't like Lavender. I do. It's a pretty colour and a pretty plant. In fact, if I could have named myself I just might have chosen this one.)

Introduction and pointless babbling aside, let's get to the Thought of the Day, shall we? Ha. I'll just pretend you've said yes. Since I can't actually hear any answers. - and of course I wouldn't be able to, I mean, since when do computer screens talk back? I just did it again. And to answer my own question, I'm sure there are actually talking computers somewhere in this highly technological world. Anyway, moving on, the thought (or rather, thoughts) of the day is about my horribly non-existant romantic life. A topic I'm sure at least 907 other teens are pondering over right now. Just like me.
As a hopeless romantic, every day I wake up hoping today is the day. The day my tall, artisty, green-eyed, ever-so-handsome some young man with longish dark hair, beautiful shoulders and strong-looking arms is going to bump into me at the supermarket. Or sneak glances at me from across the shelves at the library, before coming out after me to say Hello just seconds before I'm about to leave. And every day, I find out that today, was not that day. So it's gone on, every day for the last 79 years. -I'm kidding.- So it's gone on for the last 6 years. I've known all along that 'that day' will probably never happen. And I'll end up marrying an ordinary guy with dark eyes. Which wouldn't be so bad, just not what I dreamed of. And boring. But then I go out and there he is.. I mean, there they are.. Those incredibly calm looking, handsome guys who open doors for old ladies and are everything I dreamed of. And then there's hope. Because surely, ONE of them is for. One of them will pick up a book I accidentally dropped and then be hopelessly mesmerized by my smile and then he'll ask for my number and then he'll ask me out and then we'll get married and it'd be a life of pure bliss.
That's what I think every time I see one of them. Until they walk right passed and I never see them again. And I'm left wondering if it'll EVER be me. Will I ever get to be the girl with the perfect guy and the splendidly happy life. Or will I forever remain the shy short girl, who's so socially awkward it's awkward. The girl who has all the confidence in the world until she actually steps out into that world. And then pushes the door that says 'PULL' because she didn't see the sign. The girl who walks right into a closed elevator door because, as luck would have it, the door decided it was time to close right at the same time she thought it would stay open long enough to walk into the lift. The girl who, out of the thousands and thousands of people out there, will be the one who gets stuck smack in the middle of a high water slide (a slide which every other person reaches the bottom of in 30 seconds) and then have to push her way along the rest of it at a snail-like pace with at least 10 people to witness, and never forget, it. The girl who no one seems to hear, even though she's practically speaking at the top of her voice. (Okay, I'll admit that's not very loud.) The girl who's hardly ever taken seriously and has awful luck when it comes to relationships, or so it seems, since they all go horribly wrong and the most cringe-worthy ways - and all because she's so shy and clueless and everything she says comes out sounding very, very wrong.

Will my dream guy finally come and get me, or is he just that, a dream? If that's the case. I should just give up that last tiny little shred of hope and prepare to forever live my life as the clutzy, guy-less girl I currently am.. Ah. the gist of teenage angst.