First is the Worst.

Some things never change. My love life as I know it began with regret and embarrassment, and it’s really only been downhill since then.

I sometimes think there must be something terribly wrong with me, that everyone else seemed to blossom normally from adolescence into adulthood, making and breaking hearts along the way, and I always seemed to have a hitch in my giddy up when it came to those things. I seem to have gotten off the beaten path when it comes to relationships, and I don’t know where I took the wrong turn, but “since the very beginning” seems to be a good guess.

My first kiss though, like many of our first kisses, is probably the one I would most like to forget ever happened. Why, you ask? Was it because it was such a terrible, sloppy kiss, that I was traumatized for years by the thought of a tongue? Because it was with a boy who broke my heart to smithereens at a tender age? Oh, no. Nothing as simple as that.

My first kiss was with a carnie.

A carnival worker.

*sigh*

Let me just put this all in context real quick:

Anna was my best friend. Anna got boobs that summer of 5th grade. No, seriously. I remember getting on the bus the first day of 6th grade and immediately knowing there was a problem. The problem being I had no boobs. Was I supposed to? I didn’t know. I didn’t even shave my legs at this point. But, in a matter of seconds, I understood my chest was not worthy of a 6th grade boys attention.

Anna was, and is, blonde. I had a mousy, light brown color with a *slight* gray tint to it. Anna weighed like 80 pounds, and at least 6 of those were now in her chest. I had gained roughly 20 pounds between 1st and 2nd grade, and never lost any of it. I had signs of Grandma Corty’s midsection in the 6th grade (you shouldn’t be comparing yourself to your Grandma in the 6th grade). Anna had 20/20 vision. I wore humongous purple – framed glasses. So, as you can see, the next couple of years did quite a number on my self – esteem.

The middle of 6th grade, I decided to take up the razor, and started shaving my legs and pits. 7th grade puberty was good to me and I started to lose in places I need to lose in, and grow in places I needed to grow in. By the end of 8th grade, my transformation was nearly complete: I dyed my hair (with Anna – hers turned out a nice golden blonde; mine came out a more of a strawberry, of course) and got contacts. I still had no boobs. Anna still did. She also had a boyfriend. Bitch.

However, none of this changed the fact that ever boy in our grade I had probably taken a bath with or ran around naked in their yards at some point in my life. It’s a small town. So, you see, there were just no options. It wasn’t me --- it was them. Or lack of “them”.

Anna and I spend a lot of time together that summer. Specifically, we spent a lot of time being boy crazy 14 year olds. In August, the annual Burnett County Fair was taking place. These kind of events are horny teenagers wet dreams. Boys from other schools! From other towns! From other counties! (no, not countries --- that came much later --- other counties…)

(On a side note, I have no clue how my parents tolerated me when I was 14, or how they found it in their hearts not to send me away/murder me. If I have children, I will be truly frightened if it comes out a girl….)

Anyway, so we spend every waking and non-waking hours strutting around the animal barns, concession stands, and over priced, rigged games of what was the Burnett County Fair. It’s basically a rule that you need to buy cheese curds at a fair. Being a teenage girl slightly paranoid about her weight is no exception. And, oh, would you look at that! Look at these 2 cute, slightly older boys running the cheese curd stand….

I have no idea how we got ourselves involved with the cheese curd stand guys, but I totally blame it on Anna. The most confusing part for me at the time was that one of them was actually interested in me. *sigh* I was so ignorant of the male mind at this point, it truly depresses me. Anyway, to cut to the chase, after like 48 hours of ridiculous pseudo flirting, which I can only imagine was him trying to flirt with me, and me giggling uncontrollably because I am/was a completely moron when it comes to men, he offered to let me ride with him to the gas station to buy cigarettes.

(GOD, this story gets just more and more redneck with every sentence!!!! I disgust myself. I swear I am going to finish writing this story, and invent a new story about my first kiss)

We ride to the gas station, and I am sitting as closely as possible to the passenger side door as physics will allow. He suggests that, hey, maybe I should sit in the middle. Ummm, sure….(you fool!) and I move over, knowing exactly what is coming next.

The kiss.

Which was stupid.

He smelled like an ashtray.

First kisses are stupid, because like everything, you only get better at kissing with practice. And I can vouch that they are particularly stupid when they are will chain smoking carnies whom you will never see again (thankfully). The good news: There was absolutely nowhere to go but up, up, UP from there. And, 12 years later, it has most definitely went UP!