I was just in the shower thinking about how single I am. I mean I’ve got to face it, I’m twenty years old, single, and there isn’t a boy in my life that I’d even consider myself “talking to.” So in the shower, like any normal person, I had to face the hard realities of life and consider my so called “single-ness.”
Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with being single. Sometimes it’s even nice (gasp). But while I was in the shower I was wondering why I’m single. I’m a big believer in karma so I was wondering what I ever did to receive this everlasting single life. I picked my brain for a while… we’re talking shampoo, soap, and shave, before I could think of anything I did wrong to a boy.
And then it hit me. In the fourth grade, I went to sleep away camp for a month and totally ruined a boy’s life. Like I probably scared him of ever speaking to girls again. I figured I’d share this story with you all, not only because I feel like writing about it with rid me of any bad karma that’s still left in the air, but also because it makes for a mediocrely funny story.
Here we go.
I went to sleep away camp for the first time in the fourth grade. I don’t know why my mom thought a month was an appropriate time for my FIRST TIME at any sleep away camp, but she did. When you’re 9 years old, a month away from home is basically a century. Especially if you have trouble going to the bathroom in public… but that’s a story for another day.
So anyway, I went to sleep away camp for a month. It was a co-ed camp, but in the fourth grade you’re still convinced that boys have cooties. Well, the kind of cooties where you’re like “ew boys are gross” to all your friends, but internally you’re like “heck ya, he’s bangin.’” You feel me?
At the camp I went to you had to choose a “discipline.” I chose sports because it sounded like the best of all the disciplines. I think in the fourth grade I was still pretty athletic and could actually keep up with the boys, but if I were to go back as who I am now I most definitely would’ve been as far away from the sports discipline as possible.
So anyways, the sports group was made up of like 30-something boys and three girls including me. We spent like half of our days every day for a month with these people so I got super close to the two other girls in my group and I knew most of the boys (remember the whole “cootie” thing). There was one boy in my group who was a total cutie though, and we made awkward eye contact all the time. Like I would always catch him looking at me and then we’d both look away and then both look back and catch each other staring again. Cute stuff, right?
It was a Jewish camp so every Friday night was Shabbat dinner and a dance after. The older boys would usually ask a girl to “go to” Shabbat with them; meaning they would dance exclusively with each other and that was the extent of it. I had heard rumors of the eye contact boy asking me to go to Shabbat with him, but I was naive so I thought it was a huge prank being pulled on me.
But one day after we had been swimming in the lake, I was walking back to my cabin alone and I heard someone running after me and calling my name. I figured there was another Chloe somewhere nearby, because I was naive (again) and figured no one would run after me. I was wrong, it was eye contact boy and he was out of breath by the time he reached me. I was super confused, forgetting all about the rumors of him asking me to Shabbat, and asked him if he was ok (???). He said yes and said he wanted to ask me a question. I said, “ok, ask me,” and he continued to ask me to Shabbat.
Because I’m an absolute jerk I told him I’d “get back to him” once I “though it over.” I didn’t say these things because I thought I was too cool for him, or didn’t want to go with him. In fact, I had a huge crush on him. You know why I didn’t say “yes” right away? Because I didn’t want my parents to see pictures of me dancing with him on the camp website. Because I’m dumb. I ended up not going to Shabbat with my camp crush because I was afraid of what my parents would think. Would my parents have cared at all? No, not even a little bit. I’m pretty sure they sent me to a co-ed camp because they knew how bad I was (and still am) at talking to boys.
I’m like 99% sure the boy’s name was Wiley and I still feel terribly for how I treated this boy that literally RAN after me to ask me to go to a dance that I was already going to because I was forced to by the camp.
Moral of the story? Be nice to boys that are nice to you, and give them a chance.
So Wiley (if that’s even your name) if you ever read this, which you won’t because I doubt you remember me let alone know I have a blog, I’m sincerely sorry from the bottom of my ridiculously single heart.
thanks for reading!