Is this the Year of the Dork?
Coaster Punchman has been chronicling the dork-lights of his life. The Pug’s Marni recently shared one of her more graceful moments. That adorable Frank at Simarco Letters thinks he’s King Dork.
They’re amateurs. Time for the Master Dork to chime in.
I was born part Irish, part dork. Need photographic proof? That’s me in the spotlight during last fall’s Little Miss Sunshine Online Pageant — and that’s me in the corner. I was, obviously, voted Most Likely to Dork.
I was awarded the dork black belt for my brush with Prince Albert greatness and the unfortunate barista flirting incident.
But the dorkiness doesn’t stop there. Not even close.
Air Travel, Cup Style and last summer’s class flash helped me earn me my PhDork. And, of course, there’s my spectacular slide across the Publix produce floor. Who didn’t ooh and ahh the eyelash bonfire during my move?
There’s the time I had our group’s eight tickets for a Bonnie Raitt/John Prine show. My crowd arrived at the amphitheater that warm Saturday night … only to discover our tickets were for Friday. A bit of whispered dork charm and tears hidden from my pals — and the luck of having lawn, not reserved, tickets — and the nice Chastain ticket man let us in. I don’t think any of the eight ever knew I screwed that up.
And then there’s this embarrassing gem:
I rest my case. I could go on and on (and on ... and on ... and on), but even a dork needs her beauty sleep. And I need to stop before I share the embarrassing stories.
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