A Little Story

So today, well lately we've started to work on doing posterized portraits with acrylic paint. Rather than draw them out and spending lots of time doing that we're just tracing the faces on to the canvases using projectors. As I finished doing that I went to go return the projector to the room I had borrowed it from. Although it was light, it took two hands to carry. I went for the door, managing to hold it in one hand for a moment. And I would've been just fine on my own but there were some people outside in the hall and one guy was coming into the art room as I was leaving and opened the door by accident for me. As I left, I think he said something like "there you go my dear", and I thanked him. I didn't know him, and I think it was kind of a joke with his friends there and stuff, and I can almost definitely say that that was what it was, but still, it wasn't said in a mocking tone, if you know what I mean.

As I continued on my way, it brought about thoughts to my mind. First of all, with the fact that he was just some other student I didn't know put aside, I liked being called "my dear". I just liked it. No one calls me my dear. Not my dad, if so, only very rarely. Not boys, because none of them have ever really pursued me (yet). Maybe one girlfriend occasionally, but that's totally different. But I liked it, like it made me feel pretty or something. Anyways, that's all.