So there was this boy... (again, it always starts this way) in preschool. His name was Jeff and I adored him; he was beautiful, rebellious, and older than me. Jeff had a responsible twin named Danny. Danny always made the right decisions, hence why there was no attraction.
The three of us ate our lunches together at the bench table. Neither of the boys ate their crusts, therefore, I didn't either. Because I was a picky eater and spent most of my childhood playing with my food rather than eating it, I figured I'd make something out of the crusts. So while the boys joked around and told stories about their dad and the cool adventures he took them on, I chewed my crusts. And chewed them. And chewed them. After each mouthful was ground to a paste, I spat it out onto my hand then proceeded to roll it into balls and place them in front of me. I lined them up in a row, each of equal colour, size, and consistency. Jeff saw me doing it and thought it was cool because I was doing something I wasn't supposed to. Awesome.
Perhaps Danny was in the washroom or enthralled in his own lunch, but somehow he missed my creative construction. At one point, he reached across the table grabbed one of my "cookies" and popped it into his mouth and gulped it back without hesitation.
Jeff and I laughed at him. A lot. End result: Jeff thought I was cool.
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