Hey Hey Lovers!
So did you sleep well last night? Did you partake in any under-the-cover adventures of your own? Here’s hoping 😉
So tonight we pick up where we left off. What happened with the ultimately doomed first love affair? And why the hell couldn’t I kiss properly? Read on if you dare and discover the fateful outcome…
After two Mars Bars, one Twix, three bags of chips, a curly wurly and several hours of kissing lessons into my hand and the crook of my elbow later, I felt ready to face the world again. Also, I didn’t have a choice, as the dinner bell was ringing and that is one bell that can NOT be ignored. I dragged myself to the dining room, dreading the sight of my so-called soul mate. I sat down with a sigh, slumping down behind my “beef stroganoff” aka leftovers. But suprisingly, the idea of eating yesterday’s slops didn’t appeal to me. I just couldn’t get my churning stomach to quiet down it’s yowling. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a boy approached me, letter in hand. I groaned, thinking how weird would be spelt in Mandarin. He dropped the letter at my table just long enough to get a good look down one of my roommate’s top and scampered off. I opened the letter with a heavy heart, but at the sight of that illegible note, I felt a flutter of life in the old thing. I looked over at his table and saw him looking at me with that intense stalker stare, and suddenly all was right in the world again. He even attempted a wink. Unfortunately for him it came off as more of an eyelash flutter, for which he was beaten for later, as the boys in his house did not appreciate the finer things in life such as flirting.
So, everything was back to normal. I was in Lovetown, population two and things were great with a capital G. Until about two hours later. Things just suddenly got so complicated. We were innocently texting each other, occasionally saying things as naughty as “Kissing you wasn’t as weird as I made it out to be” which sent shivers of delight down my teenage spine, when suddenly his texts got less and less frequent. After a half hour wait I broke the rule of all mobile relationships and called him. He was surprised to say the least, and I admit, we hadn’t discussed going as far as phone conversations, but I needed questions answered. I tried to ask him about his home life, what he did on the holidays, how many brothers and sisters he had. He replied with ridiculous answers containing details about an eleven-room mansion his uncle owned, and how he wasn’t sure he had any siblings but was doing his upmost in a rigorous search across the globe to find them so they could all be re-united.
Now, I’m not a smart girl, and I will be the first to put my hand up to claim a prize in the gullible stakes, but this was a bit far even for me. I was willing to believe that his nose surgeon had also worked on Michael Jackson and that he was waiting for the state to pay him out five hundred thousand for “undisclosed reasons” but a mansion? Unknown lost relatives? Bitch please. I then asked him why he had learnt Mandarin when he was so clearly a pasty white Caucasian boy. Were his missing siblings in deepest darkest Asia and he hoped to blend in? He replied saying there were some things that must remain a mystery. It was at that point I lost it. I must give him points for patience as he sat on the other end of the line and listened to me call him every name in my seventeen year old vocabulary. I doubt many of them affected him though, considering Wank Face, Knob Jockey and Toss Pot aren’t exactly the wittiest of insults. Or it could have been that he was bored and I called him, meaning I was paying for the call.
Needless to say, things were frosty at the dining table in the morning. Every time he looked at me I would bury my face in my porridge. Unfortunately on one of these occasions I buried myself a little too low and had to suffer the indignity of having oats scraped from my forehead by a caring friend. During the school day I made the heart wrenching decision that it had to end. I couldn’t be with a man who I didn’t trust, who wouldn’t tell me his innermost secrets and even worse, wouldn’t translate his oh so romantic love letters for me! (If only I had known about Google translate!) So I wrote him a little letter of my own. I didn’t have a lot of time during school to do it, what with drama class and my free period, so I penned my break up letter in the class that matters least, Maths. I’ve blocked most of that letter out but I believe the gist of it went something like this
If you cannot be honest with me now, I don’t believe we will be a compatible match in years to come. As the ball is coming up and it is a known fact that couples that go together are destined to be married, I choose to go without you. In fact, I choose to break up with you. I hope you and your plastic nose will find much happiness and hopefully your lost relatives (who I think we both know don’t exist!) can be found. So in the words of your Chinese neighbours (Japan that is) Sayonara! XOXO Kat.
So it wasn’t the searing hurtful letter that I had wanted to write, but even though our relationship had ended, I didn’t want him to be so scarred that he could never again even think of dating, let alone kiss another girl. (Safe to say I had a pretty high opinion of myself back then.)
I marched up to him after school, barely controlled tears in my eyes, and thrust the letter into his hand. Well that’s what I had planned to do; except he thought I was going in for a hug. He moved left, I ducked right, and horror of horrors my hand brushed his THING! (Yes, up until the age of eighteen that is what I referred to it as. Don’t judge people, we all have issues.) After walking me to the drink fountains so I could wash my hand vigorously, I (properly and very slowly) handed him the note.
And then I ran. Breakups are hard to do, especially if you are the one doing the breaking, and I felt just horrible. Then the regret started trickling in, what if I’d done the wrong thing? What if he really DID have family in China and I was the Moleface who didn’t believe him? What if we were destined to get married in Bali on the beach with shell horns playing softly in the background and I was throwing it all away? Oh God! I ran back down the path, ready to take all those nasty things I had written back. Visions of our happy little family flashed through my head with each step (a boy, twin girls, another boy and a sausage dog called Buns) until finally there he was, right where I had left him. I smiled, he probably was so crushed he couldn’t even walk for fear his legs wouldn’t support him. And if that wasn’t love I didn’t know what was. I opened my mouth to apologize, to take him back, and to maybe try kissing again if he was really that into it, but I never got the chance. He looked at me and said,
“ I’m glad you came back, your Maths homework was folded up with the letter. (Pause for effect) By the way, thanks, I was trying to figure out how to get out of this, we really just don’t get on do we?”
Corsages danced in front of my eyes, mocking me with their festive white petals as Buns sank his teeth into them an ripped them savagely apart. I slumped to the floor and watched as he walked away, my plastic nosed night in five hundred thousand dollar armour. It was the end of my first real relationship. I had put all my efforts into making us work and somehow it wasn’t enough. I held back tears and sniffed up the snot threatening to drip onto my top lip. As I walked slowly back to my dorm I re-lived all of our moments together, the good, the bad and the weird. It was all over, everything we had built together now lay shattered on the dining room floor. I sighed, realising it would be the relationship I held all others up to, that it would have to be someone pretty special to top this guy.
It was the best two days of my life.
Ah young love! Well that’s enough of that chapter of my life, time to get to the saucy stuff! That’s right, virgin territory 😉 But tomorrow night I think it’s time to divulge the details of one of my more recent dates, just so you can see if I’ve changed at all in the last ten years.
Until then Lovers…
Great Bonking Song: All I want for Christmas – Mariah Carey
Best For: Fun, giggly Sunday afternoon sex