Thursday, January 10, 2008

The Pink Buffalo

Technically my first kiss was in Kindergarten. He was a skinny blonde five year old that kissed me repeatedly on the cheek one day while riding the bus home from school. He doesn’t count as my first boyfriend though, because he moved away mid year and our relationship was never able to develop to its full potential.

However, The He came along when I was 12. He was 14.

A fast piece, I was.

In seventh grade, he asked me to ‘go’ with him. I said yes because well, he asked, and he had really white teeth.

‘Going with’ someone consisted of eating lunch together, passing notes in the hall, and going to the fair.

Pretty heady stuff.

His family raised chickens, so the first stop on our big night at the fair was the stockyards.

Could it possibly get any more romantic?

“Man, look at the size of that cow!” I exclaimed.

“That’s not a cow. That’s a bull!” He said.

I didn’t feel it polite to look. But since it was a rather large animal, I felt the need to comment. Besides, isn’t ‘cow’ just an all-purpose word for a single head of cattle? I was little miffed he felt compelled to correct me so loudly-in front of everyone.

We rode the Tilt-a-Whirl. Afterward he complained again, loudly, that my hair whipped him in the face and I should have worn it up. Again, I was miffed because I had slept on those spongey pink curlers all night so my long hair would be perfect.

He soon forgave me as we headed to the games area in the midway. He couldn’t wait to demonstrate his prowess with a ‘firearm’ and after several attempts and then several more-and then several more he finally popped the balloon.

I took my hard-won plush pink buffalo home with pride. A gal never forgets the first prize won for her by a suitor. Even if I was still miffed.

The next day between classes, he grabbed my hand, (which was still thrilling, by the way) and pulled me outside the shopped door.

He pulled me to him and kissed me.

At least I think that’s what he was trying to do. He put his open lips over my lips. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept my mouth shut and did a great job of kissing his teeth. I couldn’t understand why he had his lips flapped open. How could he kiss me on the lips with his mouth all weird like that?

I didn’t get it.

Later, sitting in English class, I decided as my first kiss, the experience was completely unsatisfactory.

Obviously he did too, because he broke up with me the next day.

I wasn't devastated.

Oh I tried to be. I really did. I did all the things young girls are supposed to do when they ‘break up’ with someone. I went without supper for two nights and locked myself in my bedroom and cried.

At least I tried to. I played All Out of Love by Air Supply over and over again on my little turntable just hoping the tears would come. Alas, they never did.

A couple of months ago I happily reconnected with an old friend of mine and she told me he had been married and divorced a couple of times and still ran the chicken farm.

My next kiss didn’t come until four years later. In another state with another boy.

It was very satisfactory.

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