Word: Farthing

farthing

[ fahr-th ing ]

noun

1. a former bronze coin of Great Britain, equal to one-fourth of a British penny: withdrawn in 1961.

2. something of very small value: I don't care a farthing for your opinion.

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               Becky hurried out of the classroom.  It was Friday, and she had just had her last class.  That meant two blissful days of freedom.  Two days where she could just relax and do whatever she wanted.  And she had plans.

               “Hey, Becky, wait up!”

               She stopped, groaned and turned with slumped shoulders.  The guy who had called out to her was not part of her plans.  He was running up to her, pushing his was passed other students who were eager to leave to class.

               “What do you want Darren?” She asked heavily.

               “Yeah, so, I was wondering if you had any plans for the weekend.” He asked once he got closer.

               “Yes.” Becky replied without a moment’s hesitation.

               “Really.  Am I part of those plans?”

               “No.”

               “Can I be?”

               “No.  No you cannot.”

               Becky crossed her arms and gave her best “go away” glair.  Darren was not picking up on her non-verbal clues.

               “Oh, come on.  I bet we can have a lot of fun together.”

               “Yeah, right.  I know what kind of fun you want.  And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really interested.”

               “You say that now, but one day with me and you’ll be singing a different song.”

               “That implies I want to spend a day with you.”

               Darren flashed what he must have thought was a charming smile.  Becky found it repulsive.  Sure, he might not have been a bad looking guy, but he was dumb as a stump and did not seem to understand refusal.  That was a much bigger turn-off than any physical traits he possessed.

               “Sooo…”

               “Darren, since you don’t seem to get what I’m saying, I’ll put it bluntly.  I’m not going to date you.  Ever.  I don’t care about you.  I don’t want to care about you.  The only reason I’m even remotely aware of your existence is that we happen to sit next to each other in the one class we share, thanks to some cosmic fluke.  You mean less to me than an ant.  If you disappeared tomorrow, I might not even notice your absence, save for the relief of not having to deal with you anymore.  I have no interest in you.  None, zilch, zero, nada, nothing.  Right now, in my mind, you rank only slightly higher than a random bystander, and that’s only because I happen to know your name thanks to circumstances and proximity.  If it wasn’t for that, you’d be a faceless mob to me.  And I really wish I didn’t know your name.”

               When the girl finished her little rant, Darren simply stood and thought about what she had said.

               “So…” She said slowly.  “What you’re saying is that you won’t date me yet, right?”

               “No, I’m saying I won’t date you ever.  Period.  End of story.  You have no chance with me.  So get lost and go look for someone who might be willing to give you the time of day.”

               Darren thought some more, and a big smile came to his face.  “Hey, Becky, what time is it?”

               She sighed.  “Goodbye, Darren.  Don’t follow me.  Only talk to me if it’s an absolute emergency related to class.”

               She turned, walked away, and did everything she could to ignore his continued pleas.  She had other, more important, things to think about for the coming weekend.

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I can honestly say I've never done something like this.  Of course I've never really tried hitting on any girl.  Like, ever.  That's probably one of the many, many reasons I'm a perpetual bachelor, I suppose.