Clearly I haven't blogged in like a million years. And by that I mean over a year. Which is basically the same thing.
My bad, ya'll.
I can't make any promises about how often I'll keep this up in the future...but I thought it was at least time to make a little comeback from my hiatus.
For Valentine's Day, obviously.
So here's a story for you...I don't really care if you like it or not. (Okay, actually I do, but put me on the stand and I'll LIE.)
For a long time, I was a cynic about love. "Who needs it?" I would say to myself. "It's gooey and icky and gross." Whenever Valentine's Day rolled around, my mom would send a bouquet of flowers to me at school. The teachers and other girls in class would swoon, thinking some stupid knight in shining Levi's was making some grand romantic gesture. But I, bitter and begrudging, would set them straight: "These are from my mother, you plebeian romantics. Boys are stupid and ugly and if one gave me flowers I'd send them through a wood chipper." (Perhaps I wasn't that vivd with my imagery, but you get the idea.)
This cynicism did not just blacken my Grinch heart one day out of the blue. It was inspired, as many things in my life have been (see: vegetarianism), by a boy. A cute boy. The cutest boy, if I do say so myself.
I was five. It was kindergarten. The big leagues. Boys in preschool had been whatever, I guess, but I had been too busy learning how to tie my shoes and playing on the monkey bars to care. But in kindergarten, I noticed boys. Or, rather, I noticed this particular boy.
Nathan Wall.
Yes, that was actually his name. Not very poetic, I'll grant you that, but what did I care? I'd stare at him during shaving cream playtime (that was seriously a thing--I can't be the only one who partook in that), during storytime, during show-and-tell. Basically, there weren't very many minutes of the school day when I wasn't staring at Nathan Wall.
He was beautiful. Blonde bowl cut hair. Dreamy brown eyes. Super cool Michael Jordan-inspired outfits complete with badass light-up shoes. I mean, what was not to like about this boy?
I was in love. I was convinced. Most of what I knew about love had come from Disney movies and Boy Meets World, and I was quite sure that he was both my Prince Charming and my Cory Matthews. It was destiny.
Being young and mostly uninhibited, I did whatever I could to be around him, talk to him, do things for him. "Oh, do you need a swing!? Take mine!" "What a cool crayon color you're using. That dinosaur is practically anatomically correct!" "Snack Pack for lunch!? No way, me too!" Before I knew it, I was in like Flynn. We were best friends. During storytime, he sat by me. During show-and-tell, he'd show and tell right to me. During shaving cream playtime, he'd give himself a Santa beard and make faces only at me. I was ecstatic. He thought I was cool: he complimented by velvet scrunchies, he invited me to his kickball games at recess, he even shared his Oreos with me at snack time.
I started fantasizing about marrying him. I'd scrawl "Christine Wall" in my ratchet kindergarten handwriting on all of my steno pads. I made crude wedding dress designs and thought up ways to get the Spice Girls to sing at our reception. It was Nathan Wall and me, 4ever and ever and ever.
So naturally, when Valentine's Day came along, I decided to make my grand declaration of love. I stayed up for hours and hours the night before, crafting like I'd never crafted in my five years of life. I made him the biggest, sparkliest, most beautiful pink heart Valentine that the world had ever seen. I was seriously expecting Martha Stewart to start asking me for tips. It was a triumph. I carefully slid it into my Lisa Frank backpack and stayed awake all night with giddy excitement to present it to him in class the next day.
At the beginning of the day, the teacher announced that we would have a special time for Valentine exchanges later that afternoon. I bursted with anticipation all morning, stealing looks at him all the while. I was constantly asking for a hall pass to trek to the bathroom and check my strawberry lipgloss and magenta jumper. I had been so confident the night before, but for some reason my apprehension was building: what if he's grossed out? what if he thinks I'm a weirdo and never shares his Oreos with me again? I was sure I'd die.
Finally, it came time for the Valentine exchange. I got the usual Looney Tunes and Winnie the Pooh Valentines, even a few with suckers or candy inside. But I couldn't even get excited about my spoils. I was too nervous.
I somehow found the courage to walk up to him. I hid the ginormous Valentine behind my back, the sparkles shedding all over the floor like shiny dandruff. I tapped him on his shoulder.
"Hey, Nathan!"
"Oh hey, Christine."
"Get some cool Valentines?"
"Oh yeah! I got a whole mess of Sweet-tarts."
"Oh awesome!"
Then there was a pause. I took my chance.
"So listen, Nathan, I--"
"Hey, do you think Amber likes me?"
I stood, dumbfounded, my stomach dropping straight into the soles of my jelly shoes.
"Wha--what?"
"Amber. She's really cute. Do you think she likes me? I want her to be my Valentine."
The whole Earth opened up and fell into the depths of Hell.
"I...I guess so. I don't know how she couldn't like you..."
"Cool! I'm gonna go see if she wants to swing with me at recess."
And with that, he walked away, ripping my five-year-old heart out as he went. I didn't know what to do. Here I was, holding this big stupid pink heart with no one to give it to, my face haphazardly smeared with strawberry lipgloss. I once again asked for the hallpass to go to the bathroom (my teacher, at this point, had become quite suspicious, but I assured her that I had simply consumed too much apple juice at snack time). I ripped the pink heart into tiny pieces and sat on one of the toilet seats, bawling my pathetic little eyes out.
From that moment on, I renounced love and all the dumb stuff that went with it--namely, boys. I stopped hanging out with Nathan Wall, and became best friends with the class psycho who breathed heavily and had a family not unlike that of the creepy foster parents in the classic Mary Kate and Ashley movie It Takes Two. Nathan and Amber went on two playtime dates before she dumped his ass for a kid with spiky hair and an extensive Hot Wheels collection.
And on this Valentine's Day, I look back at this first spurned kindergarten love with the knowledge that, while there will certainly be other disappointments in life, I will one day find someone I'm meant to share my Oreos with.
Besides, "Christine Wall" is perhaps the worst name in the history of naming. Being "Mrs. Wall" sounds about as interesting as being "Mrs. Piece of Beige Construction Paper."
