Sometimes I feel like performing social experiments. You know, doing crazy things to see how people react. Rachel had to do one for her class once. She decided to wear two different shoes. Nobody really noticed so I guess that means it should have increased my faith in mankind or something. We certainly are a tolerant group, I mean letting people walk around with two different shoes on without so much as batting an eye? Come on!
Well, most of my social experiments are done inadvertently. I'll be minding my own business when I notice the stares, the giggles, or the foreign objects hitting the back of my head and I'll tell myself it's okay. Joke's on them.
For instance, I don't have a car and when you have to walk around Rexburg, it goes from Tinkerbell size to Rosie O' Donnell size real fast. My solution? A state of the art Razor scooter with orange wheels and foldable capabilities. When I pulled it out last, my roommate was like, "No way! You are part of the scooter gang? Cool!" I just nodded and flipped open my scooter like I knew what she was talking about. Then I was on my way.
I can get up to pretty high speeds until I see a crack in the sidewalk. Then I have to jump off real fast and run with the scooter a little ways. It often spins around and smacks me in the shin. You would think in Rexburg where kids walk around in coats long enough to cover their knees and Indian war paint a girl on a scooter would be old hat. Oh wait, that's just me.
Anyways, riding a scooter around is no picnic. People jump out of your way as if you are rolling out of control or they just give you this, "Wow, you must think you are pretty cool" look. I admit it has forced me to considerably cut down my scooter riding time which has led to other complications such as increased roundness of my abdomen and whole body in general.
I tried to take care of this roundness at the gym which led me to yet another inadvertent social experiment. I was scheduled to meet Doree there at 7:00 sharp so by about 7:05 I was running out the door. I changed into my gym clothes and realized I had forgotten my tennis shoes. Usually this isn't a problem since the shoes I wear to the gym suffice, but that day I had worn my platform heeled gray snow boots complete with little chi-chi balls that dance as I walk. Fully aware of my strict obedience to every dare presented to me, Doree suggested I wear the boots to work out. So, I slipped them on below my gym shorts and admired how well they matched my gray shirt before stepping into the crowded gym.
Doree wasn't even embarrassed of me. She's a keeper. I saw a girl I knew there and waved. She saw me alright and looked away. Lame. My cousin always tells me about cute guys she talks to at the gym, but they've never talked to me. I thought all guys really wanted was a girl with some confidence. What says confidence better than gray boots with gym shorts?