Why Girls Are Weird Read Free Page A

sporty, but not athletic.
    I thought about the stories I’d tell Dale that would put him in hysterics. This was his birthday present after all, so I wanted to fill the website with stories he loved. Then I remembered the story that never failed to crack Dale up. It was back when I was dating Ian, but I figured a little time fudging wouldn’t hurt anyone. There was no reason Anna K couldn’t have a boyfriend just because I didn’t. Besides, they already thought Anna K had it all. Why not give her my ex-boyfriend, too?
The Book
    29 JUNE
    At a sex shop in San Francisco my boyfriend and I purchased a book called 101 Nights of Grrreat Sex . Note the repeated r ’s, as I assume they are supposed to contribute to the fun. Or is it “funnn”?
    The first page warns that if you are satisfied in your love life, then the book wasn’t for you. I wish I had known that earlier, but since I purchased it sealed there was no going back.
    The book comes with a series of sealed envelopes, half “For Her Eyes Only” and half “For His Eyes Only.” You are supposed to sit together and pick an envelope each week to read in private. That way you know at some point during the week you’ll be surprised with a romantic act.
    My first envelope was called “Fantasies of the Orient” and involved honey and hot tea. Following the directions, I made a pot of Chinese tea, draped a black blanket over our futon, and made my boyfriend take off all his clothes. Acting like I wasn’t allowed to speak, I pushed him back onto the blanket, poured honey on his leg, and then licked it off. Then I had to put the tea in my mouth and let it hit his skin through my lips as I kissed him. First I scalded his neck and then I burned the inside of his elbow. Soon my tongue was aching from the near boiling liquid, but since I wasn’t allowed to speak I just quietly cried on his stomach as I got sick from too much honey. I couldn’t eat anything for the next two days.
    We decided that it was just a bad envelope and tried again. My next envelope (“Treasure Trail”) instructed me to cut out paper outlines of my feet to make a trail from the door to my “hiding place,” where I was supposed to “pounce” on my “mate.”
    By the way, the only time that you ever hear your boyfriend or girlfriend described as a “mate” is when you’re reading a sex-help book. Mate is the unsexiest word. Besides tuna. And uvula. Those are the three unsexiest words. But the last two are hardly found in the pages of Cosmo, now are they?
    While making the cutouts the little voice in my head muttered, What the hell are we doing here? How old are you? I used my glitter crayons to make the feet say funny things. It takes a long time to trace, cut, and color feet to tape from your front door to your hiding spot. Plus the card said I should make them go in and out of several rooms in the house. We have a one-bedroom apartment, so I had the feet go into the bathroom, up the wall, and around the corner on the ceiling. Just a little Lionel Richie in there to get him motivated.
    I’m sitting in the closet waiting for my boyfriend to get home from work and I’m thinking, Gosh, I hope he doesn’t go out for a drink after work. I hope he just comes home on time. I wonder what I look like in here. Ow. I’m sitting on a high heel. I’m thirsty. Maybe I’ll go get something to drink. No, I can’t go out there, what if he comes home and I’m standing in a trail of my own toes? This isn’t sexy. This isn’t even cute.
    It was solitary confinement.
    He did come home—late, of course—and apparently didn’t even notice the new foot trail installed on our carpeting. I heard him call out: “Hello? Baby? Where are you?” I didn’t know if I was supposed to answer. I heard the refrigerator door open and close. The television snapped on and the sounds