Today I blushed.

In case you haven't hit up my About Me page, I hate blushing. With a passion. Here's what happens, I turn red not when I'm embarrassed, but when I start to worry if I'm going to blush...I know, it doesn't really make sense. Here's the deal, I'm not that easily embarrassed. However, blushing embarrasses me. And I blush a lot. I don't really know why I blush so much. All I know is that the minute I start feeling like my face is turning the shade of a flame, I lose all train of thought, any type of normalcy, any type of wit or humor and turn into this bumbling babbler who can't make sense of anything. It's awful. And people (and by people, I mean the male type of people) get the wrong idea. And my communication skills are just gone. Totally.

So, here's what happened today. I got a notice in my mailbox that I had a package (and may I just say that those little pink slips just make my life). So, I turned on my walking music, put in my purple earphones, and walked to the post office feeling legitimately like a superstar with the breeze in my hair, base turned waaaay up, and the gangster walk that probably looks ridiculous to those who can't hear the beat I'm walking to. I finally reached my destination. I turned off the music, opened the door and lo and behold, what is standing there?!? Guys. Problem number one...they're cute. Problem number two...they're well...guys. Somebody help me. My first thought was Crap, I'm gonna blush. I don't know why this popped in my head, but it did. Anyway, I tried my very stinking hardest to just walk up to the counter and not turn unnatural shades as I handed in my ticket to my package. (May I pause here and say I was FINE for a good minute.) The first guy tells me my package is the last one on the shelf today and my reply was that I was honored. And here comes the problem, another one of them actually tried communicate with me. He said, "But, are you really honored?" "Oh, of course," was my highly intelligent reply. Then the kicker comes, he smiles and says "Prove it."

I read in wikiHow once that if you take deep breaths you'll get more oxygen to your head and the red should go away, so I started trying to breathe as deep as possible cause there it went. Bye-bye to witty. The awful color, the blazing heat that attacks my face and makes my stinking brain stop. Never fear though, he didn't. He started giving a hilarious monologue of "I'd like to thank the people who were so kind to send me this package...and my mom..." By this point I was doing good to sign the little machine thing with the right name while still trying to remember how wikiHow said to breathe. All I could think was that my face was red. Really, really red. But, the frustrating and ridiculous part was that I wasn't even embarrassed about the situation. I was just embarrassed that I was blushing. I thought everything else was hilarious, but my dumb face didn't cooperate and I started sweating. And the only thing that came to mind that I finally mustered out was, "Well, as long as I have a disco ball." The first guy looked at me confused, "Someone sent you a disco ball?"

Oh gee, smart one Linds. I don't have a clue where in the confused world disco ball came from, but I looked at him (well, kinda him, slash the floor) and clarified, "No, I need the disco ball for my speech! No one sent me a disco ball. I need the disco ball for my speech to prove my honor...Duh." The duh must have come from my inner sixth grade self because I don't typically use those three letters to strangers. GOOD GRIEF. Thankfully, I think I left everyone in a state of confusion that I told myself it didn't really matter what my parting words were. I just grabbed my package and left. Still blushing.

You now have no more questions why I'm single.