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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Biographical · #2050052
A sad/Hilarious exchange I can nether confirm nor deny I might have have with a girl.
Lynn. Lynn is an interesting person. I can't say I know a whole lot about her.
I met Lynn one Wednesday night at a church group. I spent the few weeks watching a show called “Warehouse 13.” I bring this up because the first thing when I saw Lynn, my thought was, “She looks a lot like Claudia”.
Lynn was carrying two guitars, one in her hand and the other, in a hard case slung over her shoulder. At the time, I was sure her red hair was a dye job. Frankly, I'm still not sure if it's real or not. It seems to have a consistent color and I don't remember ever seeing roots.
I was learning tons of new people at this time, starting a new church and all. I seemed to be very easy to remember but I was having trouble keeping track of everyone. I took to the habit of writing the names down after a few weeks, and next to it an identifying feature. The first name I wrote in this list “Lin-singer girl”. Yeah, I miss spelled her name.
The first time Lynn and I had a conversation, or something resembling one, was as we walked out after a meeting from the group, called “the Gap”.
I don't remember how the conversation went in the beginning. I'm sure it was something like:
“You played well tonight,” I probably said
“Thank you,” she most likely answered back
“Nice guitar,” I might have committed, “It’s a twelve string” or something like that. She has one now, I don't know if she had it then.
She replied “Yeah, I break it out once in a while.”
Awkward-ish small talk, you know. How could I go wrong from that, right? Well, me and my powers of social dorkiness were able to make it far, far worse.
It started when we, somehow, got on the subject of our heights. I brought up that I’m 5’11, on the tall side of average, when she said.
“I'm only four foot ten.” It was at this point, the part of my mind that was over social interactions was saying.
“You don't have to say it. There is not good that can come from saying it.”
Then the part of my brain that is over data storage and useless facts ran up, knocked the social part down and shouted into the mic leading to my tongue.
“”That technically makes her a dwarf!”
Which make me say.
“You know, that makes you a technically a dwarf.”
“I know,” she said in a fake laugh.
“NO!” my social side screamed. It ran over to the factoid side for my brain and started slapping it in the face. “What have you done, you idiot?” the social part ran to his messy desk, “Wait. Wait!” It said to itself in a fake calming tone, “We, We can fix this. I. Can. Fix this.” It ruffled through some stacks of paper and books. “I got it!” it shouted running to the mic.
“Turn it into a compliment, Make it a compliment.”
“You're very pretty for a dwarf.” I said with every bone of my jaw.
My social side is new.
“Okay.” the social side with a deep breath, “not the best, but better.” then a factoid part grabbed the mic again and screamed.
“Quote Gimli!”

Frankly, I surprised Lynn talks to me at all.
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