Shoes Of Self-Discovery

As interestingly as always, I was sitting musing on some of my past actions last night and, being a bit of a Harry Potter geek, I came to a conclusion. Many of you (or at least those of you who are also openly geeky) will have done those silly quizzes that you get on certain sites to determine which Hogwarts house you would be put into if you were a witch or wizard in JK Rowling’s world. This may or may not come as a surprise, but I always get Gryffindor. I know that these quizzes are not totally accurate or even created by JK (if by some miracle you are reading this, Mrs Rowling, you should put one on your site) so I understand if you think I am just waffling again.

Sometimes I wondered if I should have been stashed in Hufflepuff instead because I am not always especially brave, which brings us to what I was pondering last night.

As I was sitting alone in my room, I was considering the moment that I gave R my number (which should, perhaps, be read as ‘terrified R into taking my number’ – I will explain further on). I don’t know how I got onto the subject, but it was running around in my head. Thus, the suggestion from a friend that I was brave was running around in my head. She had commented that she didn’t think she would have given a random person her number.

Which got me to thinking.

Perhaps I really am quite brave. Perhaps my occasionally indecisive and mousey nature has lifted somewhat since last year when I was feeling like a doormat. Perhaps I really did deserve the title of Gryffindor! And then I was reminded of one of my favourite characters who also took a while to show his true Gryffindor nature. I mean, of course, Neville Longbottom.

After reading the title, you’re probably wondering what on earth any of this would have to do with shoes.

It doesn’t, particularly. In fact, the shoe thing is almost separate. You see, I tweeted about how the path to self-discovery is indeed a strange one after I had considered my Gryffindor theory and somebody answered. Steven Searce (@ShinkaiMaru5) said that you need appropriate footwear depending on how rocky your past is for the path of self-discovery.

It made me wonder what footwear readers of this journal would wear on their path and why. Personally, I wouldn’t wear any footwear. I prefer to be able to feel things out and understand them that way. Of course, if that meant walking over a patch of my path that was covered in glass I might be slightly more apprehensive. If there was broken glass, I’d put on a pair of slippers so that my senses weren’t dulled too much. After all, it’s sometimes better to feel pain than nothing at all. Feeling things out and learning through our emotions is a part of what makes us who we are and nobody should be able to take that away from us.

And to my explanation about scaring R

I briefly mentioned that when we met he received two awkward visits from me in the shop where he works. The first visit I was genuinely just going to buy paint. Unfortunately I couldn’t reach the top shelf where the paint was that I wanted. I was patiently/stubbornly trying to jump for it when my mother asked ‘someone tall’ for assistance. She then promptly disappeared down the aisle whilst I stumbled over a few awkward sentences about paint and smiled rather dumbly at the ‘someone tall’, which was R.

As you can tell, I’m clearly totally in control and graceful when meeting someone I like.

After a few minutes of trying to make some kind of conversational effort in my brain, I did the only thing I could do… I claimed my mother would know best about the paint and that I had to find her followed by me pretty much running away. My mother spent much of our shop perusal telling me that I should go and talk to him… I didn’t.

Nevertheless, he showed up again at the check out and I went back into mouse mode; whereby, I probably looked pretty vacant and embarrassed because my mouth seemed to have stopped working probably when he asked if the paint was for my bedroom. As usual, my mother took over and told him it was and that he could come paint it for me if he wanted. I’m still not sure if I was more embarrassed that I still couldn’t speak or more pleased when he replied that he liked painting.

Naturally… I ran away home (20 minute car journey) without giving him my number or barely saying two words to him.

This could have been where the story ended if I hadn’t shown that bit of bravery and courage that I was talking about earlier. I texted a friend asking her if she needed to go to the DIY shop for anything and received a very confused answer asking if I’d forgotten to get something. My response? It was something along the lines of, “No I haven’t. But, I thought you might need something for your summer project and there was a guy there that I like and will you come with me?”

I’m pretty sure she probably laughed at that, but she did agree to go back with me. So we hovered down one aisle and tried to figure out where he was whilst I tried to simultaneously hide and be seen. Of course, he was at the check out and so when we turned up I was immediately asked if I’d finished painting yet. I’m not sure if I answered. Mouse mode overtook me and I stood there like an idiot while my friend talked to him and looked at me every now and again like I was a complete nutcase.

Eventually my friend paid for her stuff and then I did it. In a slightly more forceful/loud voice than usual, I blurted out the question of being able to give him my number… which is how I probably scared him. He certainly looked a bit scared before he composed himself and to be perfectly honest I really don’t blame him.

Anyway, he said I could and asked if he could give me his. He took my name. I asked his… and then realised it was in huge letters on his chest… and said that I would leave him alone and go be awkward somewhere else.

So now you know the embarrassing story of how to basically pounce on unsuspecting young men in stores and somehow end up with them liking you enough to date you.

And after that, I’m going to go be awkward in that text document over there instead…

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