That One Time

I used to manually pick out those powdery candied hearts that I thought had the most suggestive message and put them into a ziploc bag to drop onto multiple boys’ desks in elementary school. Valentine’s Day was always fun and adrenaline-filled. Would I get a Tweety Bird holographic card from Jensen in my self-decorated bag taped to my desk? Would he notice my “You’re Cute” paper-tasting singular candy heart that I only gave to him and no one else? Would Sheila win the homeroom coloring contest again?

My style has only changed in recent years. I mean, VERY recent years. We can just say year, even. In college I hung out with a guy three times and liked a bunch of his old Facebook pictures over the course of two weeks, and then was simultaneously infuriated and crushed that he wasn’t in love with me. In high school I overheard one of my crushes talking about how he’s into history, so I made my poor mother go out and spend $26.50 at Target on a Civil War book just so I could carry it on top of my book pile so that he might notice it and – duh – fall in love with me.

At the end of the day in elementary school, I would go through my reaping and throw away all of the Valentine’s Day cards that were from girls. I saved all of the ones from boys in my nightstand drawer, so that if I was ever depressed, I could rest assured that a memory of male approval was an arm’s reach away.

Now I just text them very forward and borderline offensive come-ons. It’s better!!

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