Smudgetastrophy of the Heart

September 16, 2009

That during a high-school track meet you meet the girl of your dreams on a competing team. Even with your months of training, just talking to her takes your breath away. While chatting together near the scorer’s table she impulsively writes her phone number and email on your palm and then runs off to join her team.

You’re elated. So much so that you high-five all your sweaty teammates and clap your hands in glee. The track meet ends and you wave to her bus as they drive off. Then you look at your hand in horror. The slapping, clapping and sweat have conspired to smudge out her information and you’re immediately turned into a forlorn and broken boy.