Your bed-time story (v.1)

why am I addicted to dark chocolate? and especially dark chocolate hugged by aluminum love messages that I so religiously follow?

they read: "make someone melt today" and "remember your first crush"


ok... here I go then— I hope my first crush story leads your heart to drip liquid out your toes because it's so vomit-worthy: enjoy.

first grade. he had the same birthday month. he was funny, cute. very cute. and completely thought i was the biggest loser ever encountered by another first grader. i can prove it. i will give you a little insight into my young career in the art of love:

because i believed at an early age to give the guy a chance... even when he didn't want one, i decided to give this valentine of mine a gift that could truly explain to him how i felt. thinking about what i knew i would love to get from him, i carefully "borrowed" a beautiful red (and now that i think of it—possibly pink) rose from the house next door. i hopped on my huffy 10-speed on a mission, carefully handling the lovingly de-thorned flower in one hand while negotiating around the corners to my lover's house. yes—in the neighborhood.

as the bike pulled up to said crush's driveway, i found him and his best friend outside playing basketball. i can't tell you how fresh this image is in my mind—even now. they stopped, (i am sure out of respect for a woman in their presence) and i approached them.

"this is for you" i squeaked.

"what is? this? oh... that's nice...[abort mission! abort mission! run away now while you can!]

as you guessed it, with friend standing as his subordinate sidekick behind, he used both hands and shred apart the fragile rose until it was in itty-bitty pieces. both of his feet together pounced on the crushed heart on the concrete. then he gave me a 'yeah—you're excused' look.

how come the four boys that resided in my own home had not informed me about the 'boys and girls like different things' rule?! how gay of me... should have given him my own rafael or leonardo.

sure wish that day i had a schwinn 21-speed. couldn't pedal fast enough to get away from that almost life-long mistake, hair and tears violently blowing behind me. not dramatized—this is as close to the real account as i can give...check your heart rate.

post script: for those who know- yes, we referred to this kid all through high school as "roseanne" out of respect...