If you’ve been reading my blog posts for a while now, you’ll know that I’ve been sharing love letters to ‘all the boys I’ve loved before’ as an homage to the novel series by Jenny Han and the rom-com series starring Lana Condor and Noah Centineo. It has also been an eye-opening reflection on my dating history and how my experiences have shaped me.
There are obviously not always going to be life-changing love interests in my life so there’s not necessarily enough content for full love letters or the need to write them one. For this occasion, I have put them all in one place: a collection of love notes. I will be posting them periodically. Enjoy!
This one is short and sweet. My mum is a childminder so there are always children hanging out at our house and parents come and go to get their kids. This was how I met Hot Scot. Cue a bare-faced teen me opening our front door to an older teen (maybe early 20s) boy. Tall, blonde and athletically toned. He spoke with the most gorgeous Scottish accent, asking to pick up his little sister. I was probably a silly sight: my jaw on the floor and gazing up at him with heart eyes. Poor boy. I never tried to initiate anything with him (I had my sights on Harry Styles back then *sighs dreamily*) but he did make a cute little cameo in my diary doodles. Sometimes you just can’t help but pine over cute boys with hot accents.
My First Kiss.
My family could probably tell you that I’ve been on an “ew, boys!” kick since I could talk. Over the years it’s morphed from “I don’t need no man” to “girl power” through to “women empowering women”. All the while, I was simultaneously spoon-fed the romantic crap that made me idealise the ‘first kiss’. Think Georgia and Robbie in the pool or Sam and Austin in the rain. This daydream of the prefect first kiss could not be further from the reality.
At 16, my experience with alcohol consisted of house party, alcopops and the occasional dinner wine, so it isn’t a surprise that a night that featured underage drinking in a done up function room is forever a blur. What I can tell you is Mr Right was more like Mr Right Now and in real life, the dream gets washed away in the hands of a stranger. To borrow yet another phrase out of the mouth of Miss Georgia Nicholson to describe my lip-locking fiasco the kiss suffered heavily from “washing-machine syndrome”. Pulling apart from the tonsil-tennis left behind a thread of saliva. Gross, rights? The whole debacle only ended when my friend forcibly pulled me from the stranger’s groping hands. (Thank you for that, babe!)
A few weeks later after some cyber-sleuthing were discovered the identity of the spit-swapping stranger and had the opportunity to relive the shame-spiral when he joined one of my after-school clubs. He seemed to appear everywhere. It was ridiculous!
In the end, I didn’t get my fairytale (foot-popping) first kiss, instead it was gross, weird and uncomfortable. Sometimes real life sucks and things don’t go as planned but you soldier on.
A Few Ciders Too Many.
It all started at the end. The end of Sixth form that is.
In usual fashion, our school career ended with a pub crawl around town and the whole year group decked out in fancy dress. Never one to back down from a great fancy dress opportunity, I spent the day dressed to the nines as Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. The day started with a round of G&Ts and black sambuca shots; the drinks piled up after that. Everyone who’s ever encountered drunk me will tell you that me plus alcohol equals a huge flirt. Boys are pretty – sue me! I’m not sure exactly when it started but I know it was at the last stop on the pub crawl. Everyone was outside enjoying the flow of booze and the warm sunshine.
You were dressed as a cowboy – an outfit I find dubious now – but you were a gorgeous sight with a halo of golden hair and such a cute smile. You were sweet and funny; once we were talking and flirting there was no way I was going to stop. The afternoon went by with ease and things went from flirting to bra clasp practice, to more booze and kisses (read as: probable sloppy drunk make outs). We went for ciders at the Bargain Booze when the money for real drinks ran out.
Despite my history with drunken kisses ending as just that, we actually went on a date. The classic movie date but it was great. Everything fizzled out naturally but it was a wholesome crush I wouldn’t have changed for the world.
It’s one of those things you sometimes wonder about and ponder on the what if, but life happens and you can’t change the past. Thank you for all the blushing and laughs. Hit me up for a catch up sometime, it’d be nice to know how you are doing.
The One with The Spanish Girlfriend.
Where to start with this ultimate cringe-fest…I suppose with the “meet-cute”? We met at our joint high school disco. This was the only real place that we could socially interact with boys at school; the local all-boys grammar school and our school, the local all-girls grammar school. Our school disco was either Year 7 or Year 8.
At this time, I was VERY boy-shy. Boys weren’t part of the master plan I had for my life: go to the girls’ school for GCSEs and A-Levels, get into a Russell Group University, get a doctorate in Marine Biology, and finally research dolphins for a living.
I don’t remember how I realised who you were or anything earlier than my friends trying to get me to talk to you and dance with you. I was completely mortified, even more so when they requested “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol and dedicated it to us. We danced to the song, awkwardly swaying as our friends egged us on and tried to get us to kiss. You leaned in for a kiss and I swiftly moved my face out of the way.
Despite all this, we got each others numbers and began a text-only relationship. Yes, text-only. I text you Westlife song lyrics on my little black and pink block and we’d chat in that awful text talk. ‘Colour My World’ will never be the same for me – can I melt into the floor when it plays? I was besotted with you (probably because it was like having a fictional boyfriend that I didn’t have to actually talk to).
Unfortunately, you went away with your Spanish class for an exchange programme and you met a Spanish girl. Just like that I was history and you had a brand-new, Spanish girlfriend.
Years later, we ended up being in the same form for Sixth Form which was very weird for me.