nudity, bridal showers, and myth bustin.

I thrive on the bizarre, emotional, and awkward. I picture it like that rain cloud featured in depression med commercials, but instead of darkness and precipitation, my raincloud drops unicorns, confessionals, and giggle-snorts.

Today was no exception. (Names disguised to protect the innocent. Not very imaginatively, either.)

Walking to meet my clinical group this morning, I found myself closing the gap between my clinical professor and I. Now, I am at an age where I know intellectually and legally, I count as an adult, but I don't quite feel like one yet. It makes for an awfully awkward time in social situations. How do I address other adults that do not fall into my age bracket? Do I call my clinical professor Jane or Professor Doe? Do I call my friend's divorced mother Sandra or Mrs. Lee? Is she still Mrs. Lee, or is it Ms. Lee? Is calling her by her first name a bigger faux pas than calling her by a name she kept for convenience? I DON'T KNOW.

Instead of greeting her like a normal person while this inner monologue plagues me, I slowed my pace. I still caught up with her at the base of the stairs, where Valet Man Man Man Man faithfully waits and greets everyone who enters the lobby. He said hello to Professor Doe (I guess I'm sticking with guardedly respectful here); she raised her eyebrows and her hand in response. He said hello to me and congratulated me on making it to the second year. I asked him how he managed to work on a fishing boat all summer and walk away with no more tan than I remembered in May.

Professor Doe laughed to herself and said, "It's so funny you two know each other like that."

Instead of offering up a generic answer like a normal person, I divulged, "Oh, well, he sort of asked me out the last day of clinicals last semester... and then we never spoke to each other again because he sort of stood me up once. Well, until just now, of course." -facepalm-

This comment is still infinitely less socially inappropriate than the one I served up to my last clinical instructor. My friend (shall remain nameless) has gotten herself engaged and is nervous for her wedding night, shall we say? I decided to be that friend who will buy her a seemingly harmless gift and fill it with things that will horrify her. I was dismayed to find the empty, barred husk of Simon Mall real estate that was once Spencer's gifts. Determined to make a quality buy, I turned on my heel to hunt for lingerie in the Macy's across the hall. I couldn't decide if I wanted to buy the lacy hipsters she may actually wear or the granny panties that would fit my friend like an unflattering one piece bathing suit. Comedy or kindness, comedy or kindness? I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I suppressed the urge to shriek, whipped around, and recognized my latest clinical professor as the tapper. Always friendly, she asked what I was up to. Always honest, I answered. completely. How CVS had aesthetically displeasing lube options, how Spencer's was out of business, how good of a deal I got on the reasonable, red herring item. I am sure that during this speech, I must have noticed the eagerness in her eyes to leave the conversation or the unexpected nature of my answer, but that didn't stop me. Just before her successful escape, a regular customer of the cafe in which I work walked by and told me how good it was to see me "wearing clothes."

...

awesome. THEN, when I got the email that notified students of their clinical group and placement, my stomach stole the show on the uneven bars because I had precisely the same floor assignment as last semester... and oh my stars and garters, does that mean I had the same clinical professor, too?

Thankfully, no. I shan't start off the semester with the woman in control of my grade thinking I'm a sexual deviant. Just a girl that gets stood up on dates. wah-wahhhhhh. Hey man, I'll take pity points if she awards them.

STRIKE THAT. This lady just got a call from Valet Man Man Man Man Man. squee! :D date tomorrow? b'okay.

He says "definitely" a lot. He should stop that.

P.S. I'm gonna go run or something.