Remember the first time you were a dork? Like, the one when you were so young you didn't even know what a dork was? My first dorkery, the first one I really remember, anyway, was when I was seven, in second grade. A new girl came to class right after the new year, Cheryl Moore, and I fell in love. Hard. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. There was only one desk left, in the next row, two seats behind mine, so that's where Cheryl sat.
I wrote her a love note. She never got it, because Miss Grossman, the teacher, saw me writing it, and confiscated it, in front of the whole class. She read it, looked up, and announced, “Well, it looks like Peter has his first crush.” And then she read the note out loud, finishing with, “We don't pass notes in class. Not even love notes.” I started crying, then, and the whole class laughed at me.
Cheryl, fortunately, didn't mind, and we became good buddies. She even kissed me once. But I was still a dork, and I remain a dork to this day. Every time I do another dorky thing, I remember Cheryl, and sort of smile. Because it's finally almost funny.