Valentine’s Day is on Friday, so I figured now was as good a time as any to wrap up my Never Been Kissed series of old (!!!), from which many of you know me and about which I still get messages chiding me for not ever kissing Liam. That was the column that eventually got me a job freelancing at SparkLife, and I swear to God, whenever there has been a boy in the picture (or even kind of in the picture), always, ALWAYS in the back of my mind was if I kiss this dude, I’ve got to run off and write about it on SparkLife. I just owe you guys that much. You stuck by me while I did idiotic things in grocery stores and screwed up potential dates and mostly just complained a lot. Jeez, you guys really took one for the team.
So here you go. I promise it’s a story for the history books. At the very least it will elicit a wheezy chuckle.
Tara had a date the other night, and I said to her, “Should I send you possible topics of conversation all night just in case there’s a lull?” to which she said, “Do it.”
My grandmother is trying to set me up with her neighbor’s son. Tomorrow we might be giving him a ride back to his college, which is about an hour away from mine. So her idea of setting us up is to force us to share car space for two hours.
I’m not sure if this has promise. He was at my grandfather’s retirement party last night, and he has already witnessed me a) ravenously eating a cupcake with my grandpa’s face on it, and b) chucking golf balls at children. (This wasn’t entirely intentional, but from an observer’s standpoint I can see how it could be misconstrued.) Not only that, but when I arrived at the party I entered through the back door. The wind took the door and it flew back against the wall with an almighty bang, snow blowing every which way, while I struggled to pull it closed and yelled, “EVERYONE TAKE COVER.” At which point I was introduced to him and his parents by my face-palming grandmother who was clearly already wondering if this relationship could take off.
It wouldn’t be a true family gathering without offensive jokes, an age-old argument, and startling revelations. I fulfilled the third when I mentioned casually that I was pretty sure I had killed our second hamster, which prompted my mom to stare at me in slack-jawed alarm.
“Well, not on purpose!” I defended myself. “Who knew that hamsters dehydrate really easily? Well, actually, I knew that. But still. I never knew for sure, but didn’t anybody else wonder why he died so young?”
She just said, “Oh my God.”
But I paid for it dearly. To this day I sit up suddenly in bed thinking I forgot to feed the hamster.