Painful junior high memory: Dancing to some god-awful song (i'm rather pleased that I don't remember it anymore, to avoid further emotional scars.), having a cast on my arm from falling while roller skating. The lights are flashing, friends are all around. There is suddenly a tongue in my mouth that definately does not belong to me. It tastes of putrid stale bubblegum. I am mortified. I ditch the guy at the dance and spend the rest of the night trying to avoid my giggling friends and their vicious taunts. I begin to seriously reconsider the whole "boy" issue and remain mostly single for the next 4 years.
Billy, it's not so bad, is it? You still have the blog. We're here for you, darling.
posted by Melinda at 9:50 PM link/comments
