When I was ten I started a new school...and for those that know me today to say I was shy shocks them...but I was. I was shy - so shy in fact, that my mother had to take me to my first day of school in grade nine (that's another story). Another thing about me- some call me dramatic in a negative way- others call me a "feeler"...I tend to think- at certain parts of my life I am the reincarnate of Jane Austin's romance heroines...either way...I have a penchant for feelings and emotions and I wear them quite proudly...now that I have prefaced the thing..I'll get on with the story...
The new school seemed okay and I made a few friends fairly quickly. Then I saw "him"....he was tall, chestnut hair, and intellectual looking coke bottle glasses....he stumbled across the playground at recess time pushing his glasses back up on his nose and carrying a Hardy Boys Mystery book. My heart skipped a beat...I love Nancy Drew!
That afternoon I rushed home and from the secret hiding spot (of which there were few) I took out my diary. It was white with pink flowers, a gold lock, and the pages were soft with gold edges....With the utmost care I wrote the date and my Shakespearean description of my Romeo. Each day that passed I wrote about him- what he had for lunch, what book I saw him reading, how many times he answered a question in class, and of course my undying love for his suave geekiness. This diligent note taking and profession of love continued into the winter, and spring....and then it happened....
I came home one day to find my diary missing...I searched all my hiding spots thinking I inadvertently placed my labour of love in the wrong spot....I was frantic...and then...I could hear the raging laughter...
I rushed outside and there on the picnic table in our backyard were my brothers with my white and pink romance novel in hand...reading passages aloud to each other and doubling over in fits of hysterical laughter...I rushed forward - the firey side of my personality in full flame...did the dance of "come and get it" with them until finally they gave in and tossed my diary to me...the monkey in the middle...
I sat on the grass and tore every page from my book. I ripped them all into tiny pieces...my face blazoned red with embarrassment, tears of rage rolling down my cheeks and my brothers teasing now continuing in mock dissertations of my painstakingly written soliloquies of love...
It was then I knew boys had cooties...they didn't have white diaries with pink flowers and gold gilted pages, they didn't write poems of love and hide them in their secret hiding spots...no...they had basketballs, and baseball gloves, and pushed each other here and there as a way to say hello...
The next day at school was uneventful- my mother had scolded and warned them so there was no tormenting...but I was changed. I observed my Romeo a little closer and saw that he wasn't my poetic dissertation- he was a boy- like all the other boys... running around after a ball, tossing a stick, .hmmm....but I decided he was still diary worthy...there was something a little different about him... And this lesson...has served me well over the years...Always remember some boys just have less cooties than others.....
This is a fantastic account....well written
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