A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I were cleaning up the house. Now, when I say “cleaning up the house,” I mean cleaning all of the pieces of garbage that his stupid dog gets everywhere. I came to the area in the bedroom where his dog bed was and stopped abruptly. “Um, babe? Could you do me a favor and just grab that stuff on the floor real quick?” I asked sweetly. Thinking there must be something heavy or gross on the floor, he came around the bed and looked down. “What? What is it?” he asked, looking very confused.
If you have read this previous post of mine, you can probably see where this is going. He, however, clearly did not read that entry. Great. I gave him the quick and dirty version of why I don’t touch foam. Normally, he is a loving and compassionate man. He’s very sweet and kind to me. So, you can just imagine my horror as he proceeded to laugh hysterically, pick up the foam, and chase me with it. I’d love to tell you all that we had a really good laugh about it, but, I’m not a liar. As I was running for dear life throughout the house, hysterical, almost on the verge of tears, he shouted “NERD!!!”
WHAT??? Where did this come from? I’ve never identified as a nerd. In fact, I always thought I was kind of cool! I can only remember one other time someone called me a nerd, and it happened to be in college. I was taking a literature in film class (shut up), and it was primarily made up of English majors, except for this one guy. He was a football player and loved to tell everyone within ear shot about it. The course was incredibly interesting and engaging, and I looked forward to it every week. One day, after a lively discussion, I was heading over to the student union, rehashing the class in my head. Suddenly, I heard someone yell, “Hey! Nerd!” from behind me. Of course, I wasn’t turning around; that couldn’t have been for me. “HEY! NERD!” louder now. My eyes start scanning around, looking for this poor soul who’s getting called out. How embarrassing! Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. No. nonononononono. Not me. Sure enough, I turned to see this big idiot’s face, goofily laughing at me. “Hey, I was calling you!” Asshole.
I wasn’t really bullied growing up (except by my brother, but that was more like attempted murder). I played every sport under the sun, had plenty of friends. To me, a nerd was someone who’s super into math, wears fitted sweat pants, and eats Bagel Bites for dinner. I’m not a nerd! Sure, I love reading and learning things. Who doesn’t? Yes, I have little idiosyncrasies that may or may not border on OCD. I like to think they’re part of my charm. But…….a nerd?? I wasn’t so sure.
The more I thought about it, the more intrigued and defiant I became. This needed to be researched! My first step was to look up the very definition of the word nerd.
: a person who behaves awkwardly around other people and usually has unstylish clothes, hair, etc.