Restless at the keyboard--another story from our past.

To say my mind has been racing these past few days is an understatement. I'm going to try to put this weekend out of my mind until we're actually on the plane. My thoughts oscillate between "this trip might be the coolest thing to ever happen to me" on one hand, and "I'm walking into a scam with open eyes because I want to feed my ego" on the other.

That kind of thinking leads me down a thought spiral, where I inevitably conclude that I'm a spoiled brat. I wasn't spoiled growing up, but I was never deprived of anything either. When I sit back and reflect, I realize I have a husband who bends over backwards to make me happy and go along with my wild ideas. One day, I’ll have to share the story of how we bought his grandparents' house and how long he commuted just so we could live here—all because it’s what I wanted. Sometimes, I don’t feel like we're equal partners. I worry he just goes along with me because he feels like he doesn’t have a choice. It's not good or bad—just a strange sort of codependency that develops when two people have been together for so long.

When I have nights like this, I feel like I need to confess to the world how much of a jerk I can be when I don't get my way. So, I guess that's what I'm doing tonight. I’ll probably make this sound worse than it really was and end up portraying myself as the bad guy. But typing this out feels good, so here goes.

As I’ve mentioned before, I was a competitive gymnast growing up. When I quit, I was a Level 9. Had I wanted to continue, I probably could have walked onto a small college program and done okay. I loved being a gymnast, but it also gave me a big ego. One of the unspoken things about gymnasts is that we tend to look down on cheerleaders, like they’re the pretend version of the sport we love. It didn’t help that cheerleaders got way more attention and accolades than we did (ironically, I tried out for my university’s cheer team and didn’t make it past the first round of open tryouts because I can't smile while tumbling).

I don’t remember the exact year, but a new girl came to our school named Rachel. She was very pretty, very sweet, and made friends easily. I was nice to her at first, but one day she mentioned she was a cheerleader and tried to bond with me over it. Uhh, as if! I instantly hated her and was as catty as I’ve ever been to another girl. That started a rivalry that lasted until the end of high school. I acted like a spoiled brat because of some ridiculous rivalry I had built up in my head. Looking back, I cringe at how I behaved, but one consolation is that Rachel went on to be loved by everyone (including my mom, who was a teacher at our school), while I metaphorically stomped my feet in anger at her indifference.

At our high school, one of the biggest spring traditions was the annual car wash fundraiser for the baseball team. The cheerleaders would always join in and help them. Now in years past, this was a true bikini car wash which is probably why it had become such a beloved tradition. But by the time we were in school, scantily clad high school girls (an theoretically the boys too) washing the cars of adults was something that was no longer acceptable. Even then I seethed with jealousy at the thought of my baseball boyfriend getting all sudsy with the cheerleaders in their jean shorts and tank tops. Freshman year was torture but sophomore year Bubs and I were broken up and I hated him so I was indifferent. But junior year, as soon as the weather started to warm up, I started to sweat the carwash big time. Bubs and I were back together, my parents had just said yes to him coming on Spring Break with us and my little loins were on fire for him. All I needed was one of these cheerleader
"bitches"  playfully spraying him with a hose and giving him second thoughts about me.

In the weeks leading up to the car wash, I constantly quizzed Bubs on what he would do if a cheerleader flirted with him or badmouthed me. In my mind, he was supposed to show up in a monk’s robe and avert his eyes from any possible temptation.

The night before the car wash, one of my best friends and I got the bright idea that, while the cheerleaders couldn’t wear bikinis during the event, there was no rule against us wearing swimsuits and holding signs to advertise for the carwash. So, the next morning, we got up early, dressed in bikinis and jean shorts, made "car wash" signs, and set up shop down the road. We had a blast jumping up and down, shouting “car wash!” and getting people to honk at us. We drove plenty of business to the event.

Then, one of the assistant coaches—who happened to be my older cousin (these things happen in Central Texas)—came walking towards us. I arrogantly thought he was coming to thank us, but instead, he said, "Dani, Aunt Janet just called. She says you need to stop this crap immediately, and I don’t want to lose my job if Joe Bob drags you into his serial killer van." I tried to argue that we were helping the team, but he told us to leave. Feeling like we'd made our point, we decided an hour was enough.

To rub salt in the wound, we drove my friend’s car through the car wash. But as we got closer, I saw Bubs and Rachel collecting money together. Any fun I was having drained out of me. As an adult, I can look back and see they were just talking and having fun.17 year old Dani saw touches that lasted too long as she would hand him cash, 17 year old Dani saw her touching his arm as foreplay, 17 year old Dani saw Bub's smile as a cover for "oh yeah, I'm making time with the sweetest girl in school, Dani who?" I got out and tried to get Bubs to kiss me but he brushed me off with a “Jesus, we’re in public!” Meanwhile, Rachel cheerfully (and probably genuinely) said, "Hey, Danielle! It's so nice to see you!" I wanted to scream. My boyfriend had just rejected me in front of half the town, and Rachel had poured pure honey on my vinegar and making me look like a fool in the process. 

I decided that my only reprieve was my cousin and I'd use the family influence to have him move Bubs to another part of the car wash. He literally told me "God you are such as spaz, I'll handle my team. Go home." My day of triumph turned to one humiliation after another. It was compounded because as I got back to the car, it was our turn to pay and Bubs gave me a half hearted side hug and told me he'd see me after the carwash. I'll never forget the view out the side mirror as we rolled through the line and I could see Bubs and Rachel together at the money collecting station. 

 I went home in pure defeat and sat in bed for the rest of the day expecting a breakup text saying "You're embarrassing, your boobs are too small for your bikini top and Rachel puts out. Have a nice life."

But back in those days our pattern plays out just like it does today. I acted like a pissy brat and Bubs let it all slide. Instead of the breakup text I was expecting he actually said "carwash done, pick u up?" With the way I'd acted, it may be the most romantic thing he's ever said to me.