They say the third time’s the charm. They also say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. That begs the question, am I charmed or am I insane? Could I possibly be both?
Some people never meet the love of their life. You know, that one great love that makes your heart race and your knees buckle, but that at the same time feels as warm and comfy as your favourite fuzzy slippers. I was lucky, I met mine when I was 15.
I still remember the first time I laid eyes on him. It was the first day of school and my very first day of high school. It was unusually hot for early September and there was an excited buzz in the air as over 1000 students reconnected with old friends and met new ones.
10–2 French was my first class after lunch. I took a seat near the front of the room. I did in every class. I was very small and couldn’t see the front of the room over the heads of the other, much larger kids. That, and I was what you could call a “keen student”. I chatted with Debbie, my best friend. Then, he walked in, just after the bell sounded, the most perfect man I’d ever seen in my life (George Michael, notwithstanding, of course). He was tall, with silky dark curls, soulful blue eyes and luscious, pouty lips. He wore a green rugby shirt and tight, faded Ikeda jeans that hugged his slender, athletic frame perfectly. I fell into a strange mix of simultaneous love and hate.
Love because he looked like something constructed out of marble, a Greek god, sculpted to perfection.
Hate because he looked like something constructed out of marble, a Greek god, sculpted to perfection. That kind of guy didn’t go for girls like me. In fact, to that kind of guy, I was barely visible, unless of course, someone needed help with their homework. Guys like that went for the beautiful, popular girls, the ones that went to all the cool parties and that seemed much more mature than their peers. I wasn’t that girl.
As time went on, I found new reasons to hate him while I admired him from a safe distance. I watched him stride into class every day for weeks, always right after the bell, nose in the air, back straight, shoulders back, looking around as if he were telling the class, “I have arrived, you may begin.” The sheer arrogance! And to add…
