My 6th grade class of fellow Catholic schoolkids were having a talent show.

In order to be a part of a talent show, one would have to have some sort of talent to offer.

Well, just as 42-year-old me lacks any discernible performance talent, such was the same plight for 11-year-old me.

I couldn’t sing, dance, act, and my juggling wasn’t quite ready for an audience yet. My sense of humor was still in the beginning stages of development, so a stand-up comedy routine was a no-go.

I could have written a poem to read, but imagine the booing that I would have gotten from a bunch of judgmental preteens.

They were all dicks.

I had a friend back then, her name was Sue. We were really close that year, best friends, and all of that. She wanted to do something together for the talent show, despite my fearful protests.

We would end up meeting again in public high school, and under her tutelage, I would learn how to cut class like a boss. (Thanks, Sue!)

Peer pressure is a mighty bitch.

Sue wanted us to lip sync to a popular song from that time era. We wouldn’t have to actually sing, just get up there, and pretend to sing. Genius!

“How Will I Know?” That’s the fucking song that she wanted us to mimic in front of our peers.

When you’re 11, you know if a boy likes you when he pulls on your ponytail.

Now, I mean no disrespect to Whitney Houston, may she rest in peace. But I loathe this song entirely. I did back in 1985, and I still do now. It has to be the most lamest, corniest tune from the 80’s.

Only slightly worse than “I Just Called To Say I Love You.”

But I agreed because I wanted Sue to keep being my friend. I was a lonely nerd, so I ate up any attention that I received back then, and said yes to almost everything asked of me.

We practiced perhaps 5 times in her bedroom. She had the cassette tape. (I did not.)

The day came. We were up next, after the boy who was playing his saxophone.

He played that fucker perfectly. We were so screwed.

I don’t remember much, (I must have blocked it from my memory) mostly just the laughter from the other kids. We weren’t dazzling any of them with our totally awesome fake rendition of Whitney’s stupid hit song.

No, we were making them crack up because we sucked hardcore.

We didn’t win. Shocker.

That was the last time that I ever entered a talent show, although I did partake in drunken karaoke once. (Yes, I was booed, and laughed at.)

I didn’t really care, because vodka thankfully has that glorious “I don’t give a fuck” side effect.

The moral of the story?

I was not made to be in the spotlight. I was made to write a blog someday that would entertain people, and make them laugh with me, not at me.

Am I the only person who detests that song? I can’t be.