I know I am not popular. I know I might never be popular. I am not fat, but I am not thin. I am of a normal size, but I guess everyone thinks normal means skinny, so they call me fat. One of the boys, who I think is cute, also calls me “Stinkbomb”. I guess because my first name begins with “St”, he thinks that putting “Stinkbomb” in front of my name sounds funny. It seems to be funny to the other kids, because they laugh. To me the words sting; they hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes. I can’t get away from him on the monkey bars, because he follows me there and calls me names. I tell the teacher what he calls me. She smiles and says he just calls me that because he likes me and he is flirting with me. I try to wrap my mind around this. He likes me so he calls me names? I don’t understand really, because I am only 8, but I am smarter enough to know that thinking he likes me because he calls me mean names, is better than the alternative.
(I think that was the beginning of men calling me mean names and me being okay with it.)
Written for Tipsy Lit Prompt: Through a Child’s Eyes
Just so you know, the stuff I write is mine. Even though it might be crap to some, it’s my crap, and you can’t have it.