Pac Man

Pac Man

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Hello and happy Thursday. No, I’m not telling you about the classic game or anything of the sort. I’m going to tell you a story of my teenage years, one that still to this day causes internal debates, thanks to my anxiety.

This is the story of a Halloween party I went to with my friends. I don’t remember which grade I was in, but I’m guessing I was either a sophomore or a junior. Now, Halloween in Bogota has always been a big deal in terms of parties. Schools actually host these parties, which is great because it gives parents the false sense of security while in reality their children are doing everything they would in a regular party.

My friends and I were dressed up as a soccer team. This was the kind of costume I liked because it wasn’t in-your-face slutty, but I could still get away with showing some skin. We wore knee-length socks, soccer shorts, and customized jerseys. And, of course, we got all sorts of comments like “I could totally score a goal in you,” or “wanna play with my balls?” A guy just stood in front of a group of us and yelled “GOOOOAL.”

Thinking back, I’m glad I have that story to tell, you know? Like, yes, teenage me must’ve felt hella awkward, but young adult me is having a blast recalling that night. I do have one regret though, and that’s basically what today’s post is about.

I once went to a teenage party in the States and I really couldn’t figure out how those worked. The parties I used to attend in Colombia went like this: if you were a single girl, you pretty much danced in a circle with your friends until a guy spotted you and took you out to dance. 95% of the times, the guy wanted to make out with you. It was sort of like a game, finding ways to avoid the kiss. If you did kiss, then you just didn’t talk about it. That was the unspoken rule.

In this party, I was dancing in a circle and this super cute guy approached me. He asked me to dance and then went with the classic “let’s go somewhere quieter” because the music was super loud and we couldn’t hear each other talk. Yeah right. He told me his name, and last name, which was kind of odd come to think of it (unless he wanted me to stalk him on Facebook afterwards, which I totally did) and then after a few minutes dancing, BAM, he went in for the kiss.

Now let’s remember this is sort of a “regret” post because, you guessed it, we didn’t kiss. I don’t know why, honestly, my teenage brain didn’t think it was a good idea to make out with this very cute guy. But I turned my head when he was aiming for the lips and I even told him I just wanted to dance, if that was okay. Well, it clearly wasn’t okay because what he wanted was to make out with someone, so when the song ended he disappeared.

Per usual, after the party, we were commenting our adventures and misadventures and I mentioned this guy wanted to kiss me. A girl who’s never particularly been my friend but who’s always been around told me something along the lines of “you know people call that guy Pac Man because he eats everything in front of him.” Eating, of course, is a Colombian euphemism for…you get it, don’t you?

Anyway, I felt relieved at the time that I hadn’t kissed Pac Man because I thought that would’ve been a more embarrassing story to tell. And it would’ve meant I was just one of the many girls he’d kissed. Nowadays I think I could’ve just gone for it and kiss a cute guy and not worry so much about what other people thought because we were all pretty stupid teenagers.

Years later, when I was in university, I heard that guy’s name again (and how can I ever forget it, really?). It turns out he used to go out with this girl who was a friend of a friend. I drunkenly told this girl about Pac Man’s reputation and she just laughed. We were no longer teenagers, and we were wasted.

In the comments below tell me a story of someone you regret not kissing.

Happy Thursday!

Love, Miss Camila 5