My Imagination Is Embarrassing

I am a bit of a dreamer. One of my favorite ways to dream is to imagine in my head how certain scenarios might play out if I were ever to live them. I might confront an ex best friend and demand to know why she did and said the things she did, imagining myself looking casually gorgeous and speaking with an eloquence I don’t normally posses. I would of course give her grace and forgiveness, but I wouldn’t be friends with her again, even if she begged (she did, it was my fantasy). Or, I would sit in a cafe, sipping a latte and typing on my laptop as Kathryn Bigelow or Sofia Coppola walked by (always an amazing female director in my inner world, because she’d want me for the talent dripping plainly from my bones but she’d still allow me to be the sexually magnetic creature that I am because she isn’t threatened by that sort of thing). She would stop in her tracks and apologize as she interrupted my obviously deep thoughts. She would tell me she had been looking for a certain type of lady: mid-30s but seems younger thanks to her joy for life, normal to plus-sized, and the very picture of elegant entrepreneur turned deadly assassin at night, which, she’d say, I happen to embody completely. We’d have a quick, witty conversation and then boom! She’d offer me the lead role in her new blockbuster film franchise.

This penchant of mine for getting deep into all-in-my head role-play is delightful when I’m home alone, or even in an acting class, but when I’m anywhere near other people and the least bit bored, it’s embarrassing AF.

And so, our story begins.

One day long ago, on a very long and boring car trip, I began to fantasize about what might happen if I were to see my ex boyfriend on a night out on the town. I would be with a group of girlfriends, I’d have lost 10 pounds, and, thanks to alcohol, I would be feeling flirty and talkative.

His friend would spot me from across the room. Excited to see someone he knew, the friend would shout out my name. I’d be slow-mo grinding with my friends when I casually looked up, tossing my hair over my shoulder with a sexy “oh hey” look on my face. The friend’s jaw would drop and he’d immediately alert his boi – the ex boyfriend.

Ex boyfriend would look up from his bottle of imported beer. He’d see me having the time of my life, but he would know that I knew he was there. And I’d know that he knew that I knew he was there. Finally, I’d look up and bite my bottom lip. Electricity would magnetize us from across the room. I’d stop what I was doing and he’d stop what he was doing, and then, suddenly, the crowd would begin to part as we took seductive, sauntering steps towards one another. We’d meet in the middle of the dance floor, and I’d let him look me up and down. He’d say, “Wanna go somewhere and talk?” And I’d grab the back of his head and stand on my tip toes to whisper into his ear, “Not yet.”

That’s when I would take a couple of steps back. I’d whip an eye back to my girls on the dance floor then start to circle him, creating space. My girls would get in formation, and then boom! E P I C D A N C E B A T T L E.

Suddenly, a gleeful voice cut in to my fantasy.

“What are you doing?” asked my sister, as she held her immense amusement at bay.

“Hmm?” was the only response I could muster as I came back to boring, car trip reality and the giant fantasy-induced grin faded from my face.

What were you doing?” she repeated, her delight evident.

“Umm…” I began… but I couldn’t very well explain to her the vivid scene I had just experienced: the pulsing of the house beats, the sweating of the bodies, the smell of man coming off of my ex.

“You were swaying and murmuring to yourself!” She burst into boisterous, guffawing laughter. “What were you doing?

“Um…” the jig was up. I had to confess. “I was… I was imagining seeing REDACTED at a club or something.”

My sister fell over in her seat. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and I turned bright red and died a little inside.

“But why… why were… what were you… S W A Y I N G for?” she managed, between laughing fits.

Deep breath Shawna.

“We were having a dance battle.” I whispered.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” came the response.

“What are you two giggling about?” asked my mom from the front seat.

“NOTHING!” I yelled, shooting my sister an I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep look.

“Alright.” Mom said, “Anyone have to pee? We’re stopping.”

“YEP, I HAVE TO PEE,” I screamed too loudly.

“Whoa, OK. I guess Shawna has to pee.” Mom said with a laugh.

“Or she needs to express herself through the lost art of the dance battle,” said my sister shortly before I unbuckled my seat belt and launched myself at her face, claws out and teeth bared, devouring her flesh and crushing her stupid spying-on-me bones with my jaws. That’s it. Now you know. The end.

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