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.
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