Welpers! I think I'm in love.

The background: The boy you are about to hear about may be new to you, but in the 7th grade he was already an old flame. According to future diary entries, I pulled Jimmy out from the ranks of Laney Boggs and brought him up to my C-List popularity. My 6th grade courtship with Jimmy was short-lived, as the summertime distance became too much for us to handle. The other problem was that I liked 857 other boys at all times. Apparently as a wise 12-year-old I noticed this trend and was willing to finally settle down. 

Welpers! Four whole days sure do mean a lot, I'm sure the depth of my love was unmistakable at this point. If not liking other boys didn't show him, those little hearts with his name at the bottom of every entry should have done the trick.

Oh, apparently it did. 

Does anyone else think it's odd that I was telling my diary that it had no idea how much I liked Jimmy? If anyone knew, it was the poor beat up ballerina diary that I gushed my dramatics into every night. 


Aside from that, I just feel appalled by my use of the word like and the fact that I was carrying around a photo of myself as a bargaining chip and expecting it would actually get me somewhere. 


Portable CD Players aside, I got the best gift I could have asked for a few short days later when Jimmy slipped me the following note...

Hot damn, he sure knows how to make a girl melt. 


Top three worst ways to confess your love for someone:


1) A bouquet of SADD-sponsored red carnations.
2) Through a song that includes any of the following phrases:

• Your love is like a river, peaceful and deep.
• If you're asking do I love you this much, I do.
• Let me prove my love is real, and make you feel the way I feel.

3) Through a sweaty palmed crumpled up note, passed between classes and immediately followed by "I sound gay" and "you're not a bitch."