The A-hole

Last week at lunch, I found myself in a situation to brighten my whole day with a couple words: “That’s what she said.” It flew through my mouth like the Nile through East Africa. The joke was shared by the whole table. Then to the next, and to the next. It spread like a wild disease until the point where the whole lunch room knew what came flying out of my big mouth. Embarrassing. Yet, I felt successful—I just made the whole lunch room’s day better with my weird joke. I was “that guy.” I’m an a-hole. Those who know me can truly attest to this—I love making situations awkward and doing this puts a smile on my face. So how can a name define who you are? My name is David, the beloved—if I told you my name defined who I was, I would be an a-hole and a liar. What girl would enjoy dating David, the beloved? It just sounds boring. I want an adventure, a life that no one else could repeat--my own life. The kind of life no one could get bored with, the life of never ending surprises, yet the choice to do what I want to do. I want freedom. Freedom to let loose when I want to, freedom to be able to make jokes without getting yelled at. This is my dream. If I was truly David, the beloved, would I make jokes just to make things awkward for people? Would I do what I want, rather than listen to old people telling me how I should live my life? It’s my life! The old people are just angry at me because of how much fun I am having and how little fun they had when they were my age. Too bad for them, they can’t even move faster than my pet turtle when it’s napping. I’m not making the same mistakes they did. I’ll do what I want, when I want. I…am an a-hole.





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