a spiralling path
A woman walked into our lunch pad with three kids — two girls who were probably four years old, and a younger, sleeping boy in a stroller. Naturally, the minute the woman sat down at the table, the girls saw the opportunity to chase upstairs and cause a ruckus. She looked a little panicked, obviously she didn’t want to leave the carriage alone, couldn’t bring it up the steps, and didn’t want to disturb the toddler’s sleep by removing him. I offered to keep an eye on the wee one so she could round up the miscreant chicks — adding, “I have a thing for boys with dark, curly hair.” My own words took me aback. I do? I never identified myself as having a particular type, but perhaps its true, and maybe I’ve just never recognized it.
The very first crush I remember was on the older brother of a friend; I couldn’t have been much older than grade 2 and he was in high school. Although I didn’t know the word at the time, Mike Williams was Fargo’s version of Adonis. Whether he was tall or short it made no difference (not that I even know). What I do know was that he had dark, ringletted hair — I can see in my head, even now, and dimples — the holy trinity of adorability. Sigh. I never told anyone about my proclivity for Mike, well, really his hair; and soon enough he graduated and moved away, leaving me on the coiled path from which I still haven’t departed. Quite confidentially, even that wavy-coiffed Jonas kid is sometimes kind of cute to me, when the whole brother lot aren’t so damned irritating.
Interesting indeed.
Seems like you are still getting to know yourself
Gabriel said this on 13 May 2009 at 16:16
Of course, aren’t we all?
divulgencesny said this on 13 May 2009 at 18:11