Except it was 1981 and cell phones were still a bit away.
His name (not really) was Jim Kirk, and he was my first real boyfriend, as in I kissed him. I kissed him a lot. He was a terrible kisser, but of course I didn't know that, not having had much of that experience before.
I liked him because his name sounded Swedish (um, that would be the real name) and he looked Swedish, and he liked me. It was kinda nice to be liked. I was very used to being the sorta picked on nerdy girl with the glasses, the math, the band, the GT classes.
Don't take me wrong, I really enjoyed middle school, but that was because of Project Expand (the GT thing) and the life-long friends I made. Like Smooshie. You can read about her in my last A-Z Challenge post from last year.
We'd been dating about three months when I got what I call my sinking feeling about a guy. I was to experience this many more times, but this was my first, so it took me a while to recognize it and act. I think it takes me three months to get to know a boyfriend, and then comes that feeling, and it's on to the next. I was a serial dater.
So it's Christmas, and we've gotten to my absolute favorite part which is when my Amazing Aunt Risky and my uncle and Grandma Vivian are at our house for present opening. Sacred time. Fun rituals. FAMILY time.
There's a knock at the door. Jim has dressed up in a suit (but the stupid crew cut he got still looks stupid and he was wearing a pink shirt and pink tie and man was I done with him) to come over to see me for Christmas, for a surprise. I tell him it's not a good time, it's family time, and I'll see him later.
The Swede, the one with the manners, invites him in, welcomes him warmly, introduces him to everyone who welcome him warmly and wink at me. (And I swear Aunt Risky agreed with me about the pink shirt and tie, though we never discussed it.)
I hold back the tears, and proceed to pretend to enjoy my ruined Christmas tradition. He leaves soon after wards. I get a lecture (well-deserved) from The Swede about my manners. I sulk.
Three days later I break my left wrist (that would be my now “good” wrist, the one that isn't fused.) I'm in horrid pain, my cast is too tight because they just slapped it on me in the ER, temporarily, until I could see my orthopedic specialist (yes, I had my own, remember the broken hip?) who would assess the situation. He was on vacation.
Jim invites me to THE MALL which is about ½ hour away. I've been wanting to go there for a long time. I consider the pain. I consider the mall. I consider that I no longer even like Jim. I go to the mall. (I am no longer a shopper – perhaps this was the beginning.)
We've been there 5 minutes when he breaks up with me on the escalator. “You're just not mature enough for a boyfriend.” Probably quite accurate. But why drag me out on this long outing, when I'm in hideous pain, and break up at the beginning? Was it to torture me? I was relieved to be rid of him, but man, I was mad about the dragging me away from my propped up arm and my good book.
I wish he'd had a cell phone and just texted me, “I'm breaking up with you.” I think that would have suited me just fine.
Do you have an interesting break-up story?