At the Door (Part 3)

His face turned into a weird expression. I couldn’t even see, whether he was mad or confused. So I let him speak. “What makes you think I’m doing this because I don’t wanna be a loser? What if it’s for fun?”

“Fun? What do you know about fun? Anyway, it’s a bet, isn’t it?” I tried to roll my eyes, and pretend to be a total teenager. For a moment I thought that I was wanting to flirt with the guy, but then, it sounded more as if it was abuse. So I stopped and came back to my too-mature-to-be-liked self.

“Much more than you think, I guess. I accepted this bet because I thought it was fun.”
He was a teenager, and he was believing himself to know much more than me. Probably one of the reasons why I never was interested in having kids. He was a man, or soon to be one, and so I made the logical connections: they feel they know better than you.

“Certainly no, if you call it fun, to go around Girl Scouting in front of people’s doors.”
I sounded mean, that I knew. But then again, this was kind of fun, I had to admit. It’s not every day that you encounter a teenage boy dressed in funny clothes, in your front door. “So, what do you like to do, to have fun?” he said in a intimidating tone, and maybe I would’ve been intimidated if this had happened when I was 4 years old. Then again, people in those times were too lame and monotonous to even make a relationship between the term ‘Girl Scout’ and ‘boy’. God, was I old. How long ago?

Fun. I admit myself to not be much of a social person. Like one of those weirdos that much that prefers seating and reading by the fire than talking or partying with people. Problem was, that this place was too hot for a fire, and that, well, the people were as ‘social’ as me. In my past, there were only two things: jump rope, and ball. So much fun.

“None of your business.” I snapped. Which for the witty, it might have sounded something similar to I am too old to have fun and I don’t do anything fun and I don’t want to tell you about it. I prayed hard for the guy to be stupid. But then again, I didn’t so much.

He didn’t gave up. “Well, I believe we have a very different concept of fun, don’t we.” he stood in a position and he looked—or tried to look—demeaning. But who was he to demean me? The New Generation?

“Yes, we do.” I said quietly. I narrowed my eyes and tried the ‘demeaning thing’ myself. He was sort of smiling. I appreciated this; “Hey, I know we hate each other and everything, but any other teenager would’ve gone running already, laughing his butt off at the crazy lady. You’re a different case. You still want to sell those cookies?” He nodded, but didn’t seem as interested in selling those, as any other Girl Scout would have.

I thought about something crazy. “You drink tea? Or maybe you are just too good for it?” I couldn’t believe myself at first, that I was gesturing him to come in. Mom and Ms. Gibbs would’ve laughed if someone told them that someday I would be gesturing a male to come in my house. I admit I was never interested. Not that I was interested in…females, just that I liked to…live alone and not wake up because of hard snoring, or intense deodorant odour. Or burned wannabe pancakes. I could take care of myself.

“I like tea. I believe though I’m too good to hang out with a 40 year old.”

So, kids these days have good comebacks. “Watch it kiddo, it’s 35.” I teased. It was more around 40, whatsoever. Was I really that old? “I’m sorry mom.” he teased back and came inside.