Anyway, Valentine's Day rolled around, and I was positively dying to find a giant teddy bear strapped to the hood of my Mustang or for heart-shaped balloons and pink streamers to burst free from the confines of my locker like gag snakes popping out of a pressure can. I was broken-hearted when neither of these things happened. No chocolates, no balloons, nobody copping a cheap feel, nothing. Bupkus. I began to feel as if all the love I'd been putting out in the universe would never flow back to me. Hormones are soooo dramatic.
All I wanted was this. Someone to hold my hand and walk with me down the street.
And give me a few hugs and kisses in the parking lot. Was that so much to ask for?
So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I came home from school to find a large beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for me. The card attached said, "With love, from your secret admirer." My heart swelled and pounded; my eyes widened like a kid on Christmas morning. My crush sent flowers to my very own home--this totally trumped a locker full of pink crap. Plus, he knew where I lived which meant I had a potential stalker on my hands, a dangerously sexy notion that did wonders for my pubescent ego.
When my Dad came home from work a few hours later, he greeted me with a big hug and asked if I'd gotten anything special sent to me for Valentine's Day. WINK, WINK. My secret admirer was...my Dad? I was beyond crushed--I was flattened. At the time, nothing seemed more thrilling than the sweet beginnings of new love. I was pretty bummed that my Valentine romance lasted only 3 hours and I didn't even get to make out with anybody.
We are well past the exciting beginning of new love, but we are still pretty sweet on each other.
And I get to make out with him whenever I want. This also trumps a locker full of pink crap.
This Valentine's Day I'm not asking anyone to be mine. I'm asking him to stay mine.