You know how when you are a senior they make everyone vote for senior superlatives? You don’t even get an option as to who to choose, you just write a person in. Just like that. So what are the odds that one person would get 60 of the 71 votes for Most Talkative Female? This girl.
The person who counted them up said to me, “I just wanted you to know that if you don’t accept this, there isn’t anyone as a backup.” Nice.
(I also won Worst Driver, but that was only because the person who got the majority of the votes refused to win it. So I got it instead. Someone said it was close, but I think they were lying. My driving skills were impeccable.)
So guessing from the fact that there was no one who could be the back up suggests that everyone who filled in that little box wrote my name. Now before you think I’m sounding super vain, this boggled my mind. Now, I know me. I live with me every day. I’m kind of fond of me. However, I never thought that my talkativeness was so prevalent that I’d overwhelmingly win a superlative. I didn’t realize everyone knew who I was. (OK a class of 71, I’m sure they did.)
Done being all teenage angst on y’all. But seriously. 60 out of 71. I must talk A LOT.
When I was 3, Mom let me play out front while bringing in groceries or something. In the time it took for her to bring one trip into the kitchen and back outside, oh let’s say 30 seconds? I was in the street talking to a very nice guy on a motorcycle. Mom said she clearly remembers hearing the guy say, “Where’s your Mommy, little girl?”
OK, so maybe I do talk too much.
A huge problem I have is that I’m also opinionated. (You didn’t see that coming, did you?) I think I know when to back down, but I also think I stand up for what’s right. I’m not one of those over political people who make signs and throws stuff. Not at all. Whatever floats your boat, I say, but not me. I mean at meetings for work. I am very vocal and in our little group of 5 or something like that, yah, I’m heard. Loud and clear. Sometimes I wish I could be the person who just sits there quietly and takes it all in.
I also hate awkward silence. I worry that it’s not awkward for me, but is for the other person, so I instantly feel the need to save the situation. But that’s just a whole other story.
Where was I going with this? Oh yah, I talk too much and got my picture in the yearbook. However, our photo (me and Ryan, the guy choice) was very creative. We wore gloves with our school colors (I was orange, he was black) and covered eachothers’ mouths. One day when I have a scanner and ample time (ha!) I should post it. For now, use your imagination. And imagine I was super cute, too, OK?