Date 2

We spent JD's birthday at this placed called "Main Event". It's essentially a grown-up arcade, and JD is one competitive son-of-a-gun. I can be. Once I get comfortable.

We played a few rounds of basketball, ski ball, Pac-Man. He pretty much dominated, and he loved it. Until we got around to playing air hockey. Now, I am no good at this game, but I had luck on my side, and I was up 4-1. You could see the competitive scowl curling up around the edges of his face. And I loved it.

He started catching up: "Are you letting me score on purpose?"
"No," I smiled coyly. More scowling. More grinning.

He ended up beating me 7-5. My luck doesn't last long. In any matter.

We enjoyed a nice Italian dinner after he got his fill of whooping me.

We did our usual: texting each other when we got home, and making plans for later in the week.

No surprise here, but those plans fell through.

Lil' Idiot

There was this boy in high school that every girl liked. You know the one: cute face, nice smile, athlete, Mr. Sociable. Naturally, this meant I was infatuated with him, too. In high school, however, I did not have the blooming confidence and self-assurance that I do now. (Enter eye roll and hysterical laughter here.)

Jay took an interest in me, for whatever reason, and I was in heaven. He'd call me every night after school; we'd stay up talking until all hours of the night. He'd pass me notes between classes.

Somewhere along the way, he gave me a nickname and a rubber-band. No clue how it happened, but he started referring to me as his "Lil' Idiot", and I loved it every time. Blame it on youth, stupidity or desperation. Maybe even a combo of the three. I liked that he was paying attention to me, and it never occurred to me that he was mocking me.

Fast forward 10 years and that's exactly how I feel now: like I should be wearing a rubber-band with the words "Lil' Idiot" inked on it.