heartache, served southern style with sweet tea

I have a confession to make.

I used to believe that my only noticeably un-Southern trait was that -- and I hope I don't lose my True Southerner merit badge for this -- I don't particularly like sweet tea. I feel like I'd be better off just drinking sugar water, because that's what it tastes like, and I happen to enjoy the way tea tastes, all by its own self.

But it has recently come to my attention, thanks to the impending doom that is February 14, that my distaste for sweet tea is not, in fact, my only un-Southern trait. You see, we tend to err on the side of chivalry in the south. Gentlemen should open doors for ladies, gentlemen should pull out chairs for ladies, gentlemen should pay for a lady's meal, gentlemen should, well, behave like gentlemen. And this typically includes the notion that a lady should never be the one to make the first move or ask a gentleman out on a date.

I have never been a super big fan of that last little stipulation. (Though it should be noted that the other ones have never done me wrong. I can open my own door if necessary, but you can't blame a girl for enjoying a free meal.) And with Valentine's Day steadily approaching, I decided that instead of celebrating by eating an entire box of Thin Mints (God bless those damn Girl Scouts), I would share with you a compilation of my greatest and most embarrassing hits -- Elizabeth's Most Infamous First (And Often Last) Moves, Part I. Part II will follow tomorrow.

1. In the third grade, I fell deeply in love with a boy in my class named Grant Watson. For Valentine's Day, everyone in the class made a mailbox out of an old cereal box, and we all sent each other Valentine's. I took the opportunity to confess my undying love for Grant on what was probably a Little Mermaid Valentine card.

2. In fourth grade, the object of my affections was a boy named Jim, who at the time -- according to the gossip mill in Mrs. Spencer's class -- had a thing for this girl named Kacie. He even had his parents buy her roses and bring them to school for Valentine's Day. In case you're keeping track at home, we were 10 years old. But all these open displays of affection did not stop me from penning a very charming note on light blue stationery detailing my specific feelings for Jim, surely involving marriage and lots of babies. I passed this note in a manner I thought to be quite surreptitious, only to be caught in the act by Mrs. Spencer, who then uttered the words no note-passer wants to hear. "Do you want to share that with the class?" My heart was racing. I made up a rambling lie about something or other and all praises be to Allah, she did not make me read it aloud. Otherwise, I might be writing this blog from therapy.

3. In fifth grade, my boyfriend's name was Nathan Davis. This was a landmark relationship for me, considering that not only did I sneak away from my house on my bike to buy him baseball cards for Christmas (and got nothing in return, the deadbeat), I also ambush kissed him behind the storage shed on the playground one day at school. That evening he called me and told me that his mom said she thought maybe he should break things off with me because I wasn't a good influence on him. She might've been the first to say it, but she certainly wouldn't be the last.

4. In the sixth grade, I made a boyfriend out of a boy who'd been in my class for several years, Anthony Alexander. One day I was absent from school and when I returned, my girlfriends dutifully informed me that Anthony had (gasp!) asked Dominique to be his girlfriend while I was absent! Naturally, I broke things off with him immediately. He later told me that the only reason he asked her out was because he'd had a dream about her the night before convincing him he should, and had immediately regretted the decision when she said no. He knew we were meant to be. It would have all been very tragic were it not for the fact that three hours after said break up, I asked a boy named Danny to be my boyfriend. I don't recall his last name. Let's be real, I may not have even known it at the time. Danny later moved to California and gave me a necklace with a heart on it that I subsequently lost in the washing machine. Ah, true love.

5. In seventh grade, my boyfriend Tyler refused to go the Friday night dance with me because he was going on a fishing trip with his dad. So I went with my girlfriends. That night, on a dare, I asked the weirdest kid in our class to dance with me and he said yes. So like any good 13-year-old girl, I ran squealing to the other side of the gymnasium, where I ran into Ricky, a new kid in our class who I knew from band. I recounted for him the absolutely HORRIFIC tale of how OH. MY. GOD. Michael Welch almost touched me! And he was obviously concerned. The next song was a slow song, so we danced together and by the end of the dance were -- brace yourself! -- holding hands. It was all very scandalous, because I must remind you that I was still technically a taken woman. The whole thing was quite dramatic. By Monday Ricky and I were an item, and a few weeks later he would write me the most unintelligble love letter I have ever received, that I do believe included something about angels and having fallen from heaven, and I saved that letter in my scrapbook. It's under my bed, covered in dust.

6. About four weeks after that, I decided that my friend Stuart had a crush on me. Because I have always been so talented at discerning these types of things. And so, very prudently, I broke things off with Ricky to ask Stuart to be my boyfriend. When Stuart said no, I promptly tried to patch things up with Ricky. Unfortunately for me, he was not a complete idiot, and said, "You broke up with me for Stuart." My intelligent response? "Um, no I diiiiiidn't?"



Stay tuned for Part II: High School.

cheers,
e. cawein