One life skill I’ll never have totally down is eye contact. I just don’t get it.
When I was 14, I went on a date to the movies with this guy I thought was vaguely cute. He shaved his legs because he was a biker, but it was fine. It showed commitment. Plus, he was on a date with me, the girl whose hair texture still hadn’t fully recovered from her seventh grade perm, so I wasn’t exactly in any position to be picky. As the movie progressed, so did the rate at which he kept popping breath mints — a sure sign that he was ready to get it in. “It” being his tongue. In my mouth.
I sensed it coming, and I was having a diva-scale freakout in my head. I had kissed guys before, being the good mix of modern/confused girl that I was and continue to be, but for some reason I just really didn’t want to kiss this dude. So I sat with my eyes firmly focused on the film, all the while thinking please don’t kiss me please don’t kiss me please don’t kiss me. And it worked! He never made his move. All because I didn’t look at him. Score. For me, anyway.
So I’m acquainted with the basics of eye contact and that the absence of it can get you out of unwanted make-outs. But that’s really where my expertise ends.