A Memoir
Do you remember the first time you fell love? You got
butterflies from both nervousness and excitement. You wondered if your admired
liked you back in return. You rode a high that was unlike anything you’d ever
experienced.
I remember my first love. It wasn’t some sappy John Hughes
move, and don’t get me wrong, I love Pretty
in Pink, but it was memorable. It wasn’t movie-picture perfect either. I
was a nerdy boy with glasses and she was the first girl to talk to me outside of
asking for a spare pen or piece of loose leaf paper.
Her name was Sandy, and she was my first love. It wasn’t just about looks, and I know the studies that show how we men fall in love with body first. She was fair in beauty, not drop-dead gorgeous like the head cheerleader Cece, but Sandy had her own unique kind of beauty.
The first time she laughed at my jokes, I knew I was a goner. I was smitten because no one laughed at my jokes, despite how funny I thought they were. Even my friends thought I was a jokester that didn’t know how to come in on the punchline at the right time. Still, Sandy laughed, and that’s what made me first fall in love with her.
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