I'm a moron. There's something wrong with me. In my brain. For real.
Sitting in my house with my cell phone in hand, I'm cute and witty and fun. Put me in live-action situations where the cute guy is standing across from me, and I make a reference to Netflix and chill. I'm aware of this fault in my DNA, but for some reason, the general population has allowed me to continue talking to people.
That's why, five minutes after returning home from the pet store, I did something stupid.
I texted Spencer.
Because I'm a moron.
I asked him over for a movie and dinner...tonight.
At my place.
In the back of my brain, I thought he'd be busy, and we'd plan something for next week. It would give me time to prep, pick out an outfit, work on some lines, and generally try to become less of a moron.
