In Which I Am Right

Hello. How are you?

I'm doing pretty well myself, thanks.

I think there's one thing we need to make clear here: I am not athletic.

Many people have of late been deceived by my constant exercising and athletic-looking build and the fact that I ran track in junior high. They figure, "Hey, Awkward Mormon Girl must be athletic."

Well, those people are wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. WRONG.

Why?

Because being athletic necessarily requires being good at sports, and I am terrible at them.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy playing sports well enough (except for volleyball which is the devil's sport). I particularly like to run and also to play basketball. But I possess absolutely no sports skillz whatsoever. Also, I'm uncoordinated.

Allow me to share a rough approximation of a recent experience that proves just how right I am.

I went to stake sports night . You may ask why an unathletic person such as myself would go to stake sports night. The answer is because I have zero self-preservation skillz which means that I am attracted to rather than repelled by situations in which I'm definitely going to make a fool out of myself.

And then (again, this is a rough approximation) I had this conversation:

OTHER PEOPLE: You should play some sports.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I don't know...

OTHER PEOPLE: You could go play Frisbee.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Maybe.

OTHER PEOPLE: Volleyball?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: If we were the kind of religion that believed in holy water, I would cleanse myself with some right now.

OTHER PEOPLE: Soccer?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Okay. Here's the thing. Whenever I play sports, I get hit by the ball. Often in the face. But other places too.

OTHER PEOPLE: Really?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Yes. I have been hit in the face by basketballs. Soccer balls. Tetherballs. And the devil's own, volleyballs.

OTHER PEOPLE: You should play soccer anyways.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...you do realize I'm just going to get hit, right?

But again, I have no self-preservation skillz. And so I joined the soccer game.

The soccer game was intense. Quite intense. I did my best to, like, run and kick and stuff. Whatever it is you do in soccer. Because actually, I'm not sure I know the rules.

Things were going well. Too well. I was leery of the ball, wincing each time it zoomed past my face.

"Well, I've gotten this far," I said to myself, "and I haven't been hit, so maybe I don't have to worr-"

WHUMP.

The ball and my skull connected. And not because I was heading the ball.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I TOLD Y'ALL THIS WOULD HAPPEN.

Plot twist! The person who kicked the ball into my head was none other than Best Friend Boy. After the game, he approached me.

BEST FRIEND BOY: Sorry about your head.

AWKWARD MPORMON GIRL: It's okay. Now we're even.