Class dismissed.
Ginge.
My first ever
genuine date was when I was thirteen years old. I was short, messy-haired and a
bit on the chubby side as my body was storing energy for what my mum kept
referring too as the well overdue growth spurt. I had recently moved schools
and not really had that much luck making friends with boys let alone girls;
however, I remember the exact moment when I found myself blushing bright red –
similar to the red of the cute freckled girl’s hair that had at that moment
plucked up the courage to tell me that she liked me. (i say she did it, she
plucked up the courage to ask her best friend to ask me out).
Now this for
all intensive purposes is what was considered “asking out” at this age, the
childish concept of asking a neutral third party to complete a task on behalf
of the initiating party (in this case, Ginge) granted this is still used now
via the use of texting someone to ask them out but for the point of this
chapter Elleesha Phillips will be referred to as Samsung as in this story they
both have the same role...
If I remember
correctly I was stood in line outside my PSHE classroom (which we then called
RE) and all three of us were about to go inside. By “three” I mean me, Ginge and
Samsung. In the blur of the moment I casually flashed a cheeky smile, saying
that I’d meet her at the cinema at four pm for the movie and I’ll get her a
lift home, it couldn’t be much later, as I was thirteen and I had a curfew plus
my mum would probably drop me off and pick me up in the evening anyway...
...At least
that is what I thought happened; in reality I blushed even more, panicked,
screamed “YES!” and bolted into my classroom, tripping over my own two feet
before face planting my desk and consequently knocking myself out. Thankfully
my best friend heaved me into my seat and asked me “what the hell are you so
scared of agreeing to do?” ginge and her
friends on the other hand were vibrating from
giggling. I could put this down to two reasons: Ginge was having some form of
panic-induced stroke or Samsung was on vibrate.
Three hours
later, when I sat down after an “intense” game of football (that was how I
spent most of my lunchtimes at this age), my friends actually pointed out to me
I now had a girlfriend. This startling revelation caused me to choke so hard on
my apple juice that my Pokémon cards fell out of my pocket.
I had a
girlfriend. What did that mean? Well from what Tracy Beaker, Fairly Odd
Parents, Power Rangers and Kenan and Kel taught me, you go to the cinema
together and do this thing called “kissing”. I discussed this with my two closest friends,
DB and Sander. DB had a girlfriend nicknamed Vampy, and Sander had never had
one. Thus, the dumb led the blind as we had this conversation.
Me: I have a
girlfriend...
DB & Paul:
Yes.
Me: What do I
do?
DB: Hold her
hand, give her hugs, occasionally kiss...
Me: WHAT?! I
don’t know how to do that!
Paul: I’m sure
it’s OK. Come on, people kiss all the time!
Me: KISS?!
STUFF THAT, LETS SORT OUT THIS HUGGING THING FIRST!
Now every young boy goes through
this phase, because to them the concepts of hugging and kisses on the cheek are
associated with mums, grandmothers and aunts – because let’s face it, they are
not considered girls. (Sorry mum) That night I went onto my dad’s computer and
began some lengthy research into one point that I wanted to make sure was not
going to be an issue for me: Cooties.
Fortunately I
found it to be a fake disease, and that you couldn’t catch any disease from
having a girlfriend. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my dad for
enabling the safety settings on the family computer. Thirteen year-old me would
have definitely jumped off a bridge if my research had yielded results
explaining STI’s.
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