Sometimes, I fantasize about having foot-tapping anxiety. I’m not sure of what the technical term is, but close your eyes and let me paint you a picture: a wide-eyed, female protagonist sitting cross-legged in front of her vanity, one Keds-clad foot wiggling wildly in place. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Her cheeks are splayed with freckles that she claims to hate, but has recently started to grow fond of. She’s debating on going to prom with the popular jock with the…