Please, I beg of you. No one drop the “C” word. Don’t say it. I will personally give everyone in this crowded room high fives and do a cart wheel if we could last the whole night without using the “C” word. I dodge people like flying bullets whizzing through the air. Nope. Not tonight. I gaze through the maze of people, and then I spot her. Quirky dorky Aunt Barbra, the gossip queen of the century; she has to know everything about everyone. She catches my gaze. Slowly she slithers through a jungle of people like a wild snake waiting to attack her pray. I slip away through the crowd trying to gain time. Should I head to the kitchen to get a drink? No that just leads me to a dead end. Should I hide in the bathroom with ‘an upset stomach’? No she will just go after my mother which leads to an extremely more awkward conversation.
Okay just smile and keep the conversation to a minimum. “Logan! Darling there you are! I have been looking all over for you. Kiss kiss.” She kisses both sides of my cheeks, pretending to be a sophisticated French woman. “Now talk to your dear Aunt Barbra.” Oh no. Here it comes. Sorry everyone, no high fives and cart wheels tonight. You can thank dear Aunt Barbra for that one. “So talk to me about COLLEGE.”
There it is. That seven letter word that makes all high school seniors cringe. That one word that we all avoid until February 1 when the scraps of our applications get shipped away to never ever land for stuck up admission board members to overly critic them. Just so we fuss over little slips of paper that simply say congratulations or decline your request for admission. Those few insignificant words that decided your future. That makes us Beason bums want to pull out our hair because we did not have enough after school activities or AP courses. So please, I beg of you. Don’t say the “C” word.