He was a year older and that was attractive only because that meant I had never seen him eat paste. Or play-dough.
His main appeal was that I was able to pick him up. As in literally lift him off the ground. I was quite deep, even then.
Our parents would love this trick, my lifting him, because I was so short and scrawny and he so sturdy and confident.
The relationship ended when he tried to kiss me during story-time. I wanted to hear the book and he kept whispering and wanting a kiss. When I tried to scoot casually around the reading rug to get away from him –I wanted to hear the story, goddammit –he followed me, annoyingly, which caused a disturbance. Unjustly, we were both reprimanded.
We broke up because I never forgave him for almost making me go in time-out. I was not one of those trouble-maker kids that went in time-out. Plus, didn’t he listen when I said I wanted to hear the story? I was not about to compromise my priorities and miss stories or risk time-outs because he wanted to try kissing.
I remember being relieved that he started Kindergarten next year and wouldn’t want to be my boyfriend again.
