Thursday, April 29, 2004

It's a wonder I ever married.

Inspired by Amy's confessionals regarding old boyfriends, I will tell you an embarrassing story about me and my first boyfriend.

We met in first grade, but our love was not to blossom until third grade. And what I mean by blossom is, I'd get to wear his watch and jacket while he played football during recess. But that my friends was BIG to all the other little 8-year-old girlies. Yes, I was Brad's girlfriend. Brad isn't his real name, because good GOD I would die if he read this. Ever.

We also used to play house. He was the Dad, I was the Mom and really all we did was boss other kids around.

Life was good. Recess was fun!

Until that fateful day when Miranda (also not her real name) transferred to my school in fourth grade. Suddenly? He was spending time hanging out around Miranda and her god-awful poofy pigtails, and NOT playing football anymore.

Half-way through fourth grade, my family was to move and I was to change schools, and my little fragile heart was breaking because I had only gone to this ONE school in my whole four years of school and I would never make new friends. NEVER! And to never see Brad again? Devastating!

Scorned by Brad's new found love for Miranda, I was all weepy sitting at his desk on my last day at that school. CRYING OVER BROKEN HEART AT NINE YEARS OLD, people. Surely I would not grow up to be overdramatic.

And then I wrote "I love you" on his desk. ON his DESK. Like a fucking idiot.

I wouldn't see him again until HIGH SCHOOL. And here's how our fateful reunion went down.

I was walking to my English class on the first day, when I saw a group of people standing outside a classroom, waiting for it to open. Our school was all outdoor buildings, so I was walking along a row of trees. Trees that would fuck me over.

I could see Brad standing in the group, and my heart skipped a beat. BRAD! Shit, I haven't seen him for YEARS. Be cool, man. BE COOL. Just say Hi, but keep walking.

Or don't. TRIPPING IS GOOD TOO. JUST as I was passing by him, I turned to say Hi and didn't realize there was a step down to a little grass patch around one of the trees, and I fell promptly on my face. So he heard, "Hi Brad..." and then I was down. On the ground.

Of course he ran over to help me, and I think I said a bunch of swear words, thanked him for helping me, and then spent three years trying to avoid him.

Two days before graduation, I was at a party, and he came up and asked me if I had written 'I love you' on his desk back in fourth grade. I confessed that I had. Then he asked if I wanted to wear his jacket and watch while he did a beer bong.