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.  

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