Jessie is a friend

I’ve always been puzzled by childhood sweethearts who get married. I mean, back in the 1930s I could see it. There was probably a decent chance your sweetheart would be sent off to war or die in a freak paper mill accident, so essentially you’d get a second chance with a new guy at some point. If you’re Amish or Inuit it makes sense because you have limited options in your community. But not now.

Committing to someone you’ve known since third grade is just crazy, or introversion on a scale beyond even my social phobia comprehension. Don’t you ever wonder what you’re missing out on? I mean, look HOW EXCITING my cosmopolitan life is. If by Cosmopolitan you mean drinking boxed wine, taking the quizzes and ordering sex toys for one from the ads.

Thanks to the invention of Facebook, which has ruined more marriages than I can count (mine included), I have been reunited with a number of old classmates. In a handful of cases, the initial message from a few guys included confessions to having long-standing crushes on me. I’m not saying this to brag. In fact, I find it really hard to believe. I mean, look at me:

20160618_220035 (450x800)What about the Davy Jones haircut Miss Daisy gave me with scotch tape bangs and a bowl on my head was attractive? You can’t even tell from this picture, but I also had two buck teeth and a gap between them you could drive a 1977 chocolate brown AMC Gremlin through. I didn’t even get braces until freshman year of high school. I believe Miss Daisy decided I didn’t need nice teeth at the convent she planned on forcing me to join.

I still can’t comprehend why these guys still carried a torch all these years and after they moved away to travel the world. Was my hometown a secret Amish enclave in the middle of Stepford suburbia? I do like wearing black every day. But now I’m a fat spinster with the skin of a 32 year old. That sounds very Silence of the Lambs-y. You know what I mean. If anything I’d have the abs of a 24 year old Serb in a shadowbox like a trophy.

And then it hit me today as I listened to the easy listening music in the grocery store. Maybe none of us ever get over our childhood crushes.

I’ve never met Rick Springfield but I know deep in my heart I can never let him go. Even if he’s starting to look like Alice Cooper. He will always be Dr. Noah Drake in my eyes. I didn’t sleep with his picture under my pillow every night for 5 years to let him go. That’s true love, my friends.

I guess it isn’t so weird that I’m finding out about the guys who had crushes on me. I admit that when my high school reunion was coming up my stomach got all fluttery at the thought of seeing Lenny Rosati again. But I’m not going. (See my blog post on social anxiety here.)

Yeah, sometimes we are just perpetually 16 and wrinkle-free in our minds. That’s not a bad place to stay.

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