I remember the first boy who liked me.

Larry.

And I know he liked me because he pulled my hair and chased me around the playground during kindergarten recess. And until his efforts escalated and my daddy had to come to school and have a “talk” with him – I suppose I liked him too.

I used to play house with Peter.

He lived in the apartment building next door. His family had one of those recliner chairs with the massage option; which we used when pretending to be driving somewhere. But mostly, we were under his dining table pretending to be married.

And by married…I mean playing “doctor”.

Peter once brought me flowers, which at the time I thought meant he loved me (we were in 1^st grade) and now realize it was probably to thank me for all the doctoring.

It was during 6^th grade that I had my first serious boyfriend.

Being the new girl in school meant I was particularly fascinating. Or perhaps my reputation preceded me… Peeeeter!! Just to be clear – I was no longer “doctoring”. My license? Declared null and void. Moving on…

While attending my first ever boy/girl party, I was informed that a boy was planning to ask me to “go” with him. BUT WHAT DID THIS MEAN AND WHERE WERE WE GOING TO GO?

It was anxiety-inducing enough playing ‘spin the bottle’, so fingers-crossed that the asking me to go with him wasn’t into the basement closet for some hanky-panky.

Relieved to learn it just meant to “go” steady and despite the fact that I was clueless on the details – I accepted. But there were rules. Rule #1: a nightly phone call…I could handle that. Rule #2: occasionally carrying my books home from school…that’s nice. Rule #3: calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend…not the worst thing.

Then I got wind of rule #4: I would HAVE TO KISS HIM. WHOA… I had scruples. Now.

So there was a lot of avoiding, some chasing and eventually the “Dear Karen” note…surreptitiously passed to me in my 6^th grade classroom. You can read it -> here.

Throughout the course of high school,

I was fixed up numerous times; my mom thoughtfully signaling whether to wear heels or flats.

I nearly choked on my popcorn when one arranged date stood and directed a verbal onslaught of vulgarisms toward the movie screen for all to hear. Using the pretense of needing to ‘powder my nose’ I quickly pay-phoned my parents to pick me up. Pronto.

And with a another fixer-upper, on a triple date, while in the back of a station wagon, my escort tried to feel me up. Over my navy blue pea coat. Really?

Soon after, there was the boy I lusted after. We joked and flirted on the bus. He was a major topic of conversation in my house. He was the perfect guy… my fantasy boyfriend.

So imagine my teenage-self’s fantasy come true moment – he was in my house! HE WAS IN MY ACTUAL LIVING ROOM! AND I WAS IN HEAVEN… until I spied my mom crawling down the stairs to sneak a peek. Moooommmm!!!

A year later we did manage one make-out session and except for his belt buckle digging into me I believe it was a success! Upon leaving he handed me his picture. Wow. And thanks?

Also, he kindly informed me that the buckle I referenced as digging into me was no buckle. Huh?

Ooooooo…

My significant high school relationship began during the ever popular spring musical. We lived the typical showbiz story. We played opposite one another – which bled into real life. It was filled with the all-consuming and angst-filled longing of young love.

I have such sweet memories of this time… excluding the time we ended up in a dicey clinic horrified we had ‘contracted’ something.

These interactions taught me a few things.

AND I learned you can’t get gonorrhea if you haven’t had sex.

~ title image via Pinterest