Oh man. That is so crazy. Seriously. I mean, right away you know this is a guy who can't kiss! Who tells people that? Seriously, who does that?
I'm reminded of this boyfriend one of my godmothers had. He told this story about how when he was 8, he was playing fireman with the garden hose one hot summer day. Hosed down the whole house... with all the windows open.
Ye-es.
You know, I'm not saying he wasn't a really sweet, nice guy. He was. Heart in the right place, I think. Gave me a little job one summer setting up medical files. But then and there, when he told the story... well, this is bad, I was very very bad when I was young... it was just a full stop for me. Because in his story it wasn't simply that he was a high-energy, high-spirited little boy. It wasn't that he wasn't thinking or not noticing. It was this whole sense of his having to learn about windows - open windows, closed windows. Of having to be taught. Never in a million years would I not know like that. Not at 8, not at 4, not ever.
Ok. I confess. I'm still bad. There's still nothing I can do with that.
