I Am So Cute

cute

I am so cute.

I’m not being arrogant.  Listen, “cute” has never been my first choice.  “Sexy” is what I’ve always wanted to be.  But hey, I know I’m not sexy.  I’ve never been sexy.  And I probably never will be.  It’s important to know what you are.  The research is in.  The evidence has been collected—from observations made by construction workers to comments left on my facebook page…  The conclusion:  I am decidedly and incredibly cute.  See, there’s a kind of “mathematics to being sexy” and I just don’t have the right formula.  Maybe I should explain.  If you take a decent looking person, give ‘em some smoothness and maybe some hip fashion-sense, you’ve got a sexy person.  On the other hand, if you take a decent looking person, add in some clumsiness and a love of striped attire, you get cute.  It’s that simple.

I’ve wanted to be sexy—tried to be sexy—failed at being sexy—for a long time.  Looking back, the signs that I could never be sexy have been there all along.  But it wasn’t until recently that it all became clear.  My lack of sexiness became irrefutable.

It was after a blind date.  We had eaten dinner, said our goodbyes, and the guy walked me to the train station.  When I bounded up those stairs to catch my red-line train, the possibility of new love was in my eyes, the tassels on my knitted winter hat swung to and fro, my backpack bounced happily behind me, my hands nestled themselves comfortably in the pockets of my puffy vest….  Then, it happened.  I tripped.

Anybody can fall down the stairs.  But it takes a real pro to fall up them.  I make it look easy, ‘cause I do it all the time.  As far as stairs are concerned, I have had far more fall-ups than fall-downs.  I even have a scar from a fall-up.  It’s a big dent in my shin.  Essentially, a little chunk of my leg is missing because I fell up the stairs.

But this fall-up—this fall-up—was the mother of all fall-ups.  Not because my date—a man I never heard from again—witnessed the entire incident.  And not because it happened on the steps in a red-line station (which, by the way, when examined closely are as impressively unclean as you think they are).  No, this was the mother of all fall-ups because my hands were stuck in the pockets of my vest for the entire time.  There was no way to stop it.  I just had to fall, face-down onto those steps.  It was in that moment—with the weight of my backpack pinning me against the urine-stained steps, and my hands uselessly trapped inside my pockets—that I realized I can never be sexy.  Even if a sexy person had taken that fall, they’d be demoted to cute for at least two years.  Having never been sexy (not even for a moment), I secured my cute-status forever.

I sometimes wonder how a sexy person would have recovered from that fall.  Nobody could’ve danced their way out of it.  I don’t have the sexy component in my equation, so it’s hard for me to imagine handling it in a way that would be considered appealing.  Oh!  Maybe a sexy person would have been gracefully helped up by another sexy person.  Yeah.  And it would’ve turned into one of those cheesy “How We Met” stories.  I love those stories.

But I am cute—not sexy—and there wasn’t a sexy man who helped me from my fall-up.  In fact, because I was trapped between my backpack and the stairs, I stayed there for kind of a long time.  And it got worse before it got better.  While I was stuck there, I pictured what I probably looked like, which made me laugh. And not a sexy laugh either.  It was a combination of shaking and kind of “uhhh uhhhh” sounds.  In my defense though, it was because I couldn’t breathe all that well.  I mean, I’d nearly had the wind knocked out of me and I was trapped between a really heavy backpack some and urine-y stairs.

I finally pulled myself together and did the only thing I could think of to get up.  I began rocking from side to side…eventually, I gained enough of a gradient to free one of my hands from its pocket.  I even foolishly tried to “recover” by hopping up and quickly removing myself from the scene of the accident.  But I’d been down there way too long to have any sort of dignified rebound.

It’s important to know what you are.

I learned two things that day.  One:  Keep my hands out of my pockets whenever I am going up stairs.  Two:

I am so cute.

About Amanda Rountree

Amanda Rountree is a writer, performer, director, and teacher based in Chicago. Her one-woman show is touring soon, check it out at amandarountree.com! Follow her on twitter for some free laughs! @AmandaRountree1

About Amanda Rountree

Amanda Rountree is a writer, performer, director, and teacher based in Chicago. Her one-woman show is touring soon, check it out at amandarountree.com! Follow her on twitter for some free laughs! @AmandaRountree1

Smiles For All