a breakfast serial

One bite-sized story every morning to uplift, motivate, or provoke thought.

Ice Ice Baby

< by Brennan >

The middle school birthday party: the perfect combination of blossoming hormones, uncomfortable social interaction, and crisis-level self-identification and loathing. Anything can happen at any time, and you are always acutely aware of what others think.

What better place to host one than the local Iceplex, am I right? Everyone can succeed at ice skating, boosting their flagging social standing with the crisp landing of a triple axle – huzzah!

I had never been ice skating before, but I did know that I needed to continue to try and convince everyone that I wasn’t a klutz. Like I said: What better place than the Iceplex?

Ever-cautious, I tentatively made my way to the ice, finding my footing (blading?) as I went along. Turns out that I wasn’t so bad; I was getting it!

As my confidence grew, so did my boldness. Backward slowly? Nailed it! Marginally-faster turning? You got it! Leave my feet while skating in a sort of jump move? Cue that scratchy sound of a record stopping.

One monumental, well-timed cheek-plant later, I was crying to one of my peers like a kid still in elementary school as one side of my face ballooned. Turns out that being the cool kid on the (ice) block has its perks: First dibs on the cake to the crying kid.

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