I’m 34. In relating-to-women-years, that’s 11.


In 5th grade, I “dated” Heather DuBois, Selena Southwick, and Patricia Scarlatta. By “dated,” I mean we declared some attraction toward each other. Nothing happened. Heather and I were together until John Lansdowne bought her a white teddy bear for Valentine’s Day, which she brought to class to show me and demand to know what I was going to do about it.
“Nothing,” I said. I hadn’t gotten her anything for Valentine’s Day. I figured if some other dude wanted to waste his money getting my girl a gift, good. Saved me from having to splurge. What did I care what some other guy spent his money on? Heather wasn’t a possession to be battled over and claimed. This wasn’t a game of RISK. If he wanted to treat her like an animal and think her could bribe her away from me, he would learn to his dismay Heather was a three-dimensional, independent, prideful being. Continue reading