What my dad doesn’t know is that he worries in vain; I am rather hopeless with guys. As in hopeless. Take this situation for instance. After my guitar lessons (in which I triumphantly and somewhat defiantly announced to my mom that no, my guitar teacher did not try to flirt with me), my mom and I had a panini in a small coffee shop in front of our neighborhood. The last time I ate there with my dad and my sister, I noticed that there was a rather cute waiter working there. He looked young, around seventeen or eighteen, and he had a built body which scores a lot of plus points in my book. To my horror, I found myself acting like a twelve-year old in a soiree; I couldn’t bring myself to even look at him! It was pathetic, and yet I was completely helpless to do anything. My eyes remained demurely lowered like the dalagang-Filipina that oh-so-annoys me very much, and I kept giggling with my right hand delicately covering my mouth. To think that I was wearing my torn jeans that time. UGH! [read more?]
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