In honor of Valentine's Day Eve, I thought it was fitting to pay homage to my first love - Chris Phillips (I pray to God he's not reading this).
When I was fourteen, my family spent part of the summer in California. As a huge follower of the Sweet Dreams book series, I fantasized about meeting some cute California boy and falling head-over-heels in love (as in Summer Dreams by Barbara Conklin, Sweet Dreams Romance Books #60, Bantam Books).
Chris happened to live next door to my aunt and uncle. He was a blonde surfer type, two years older and a bit on the goofy side. He wore nothing but three-quarter length sleeved tops and jammer shorts with his nuts often hanging out of the side. It disgusted and scared me, but didn't prevent our little love affair from flourishing.
Our summer romance continued into the fall with phonecalls and Stetson-infused letters. My grade nine sistas loved to read the correspondence, even though his chicken scratches were barely legible and they took turns sniffing the pages.
I think my best memories were calling him from the home ec. office telephone when the teacher left the room.
I'm not really sure how it all ended... (Something about getting caught smoking weed and having to move to his Mom's house). Wherever you are, CP, this one's for you. Giddyup.
When I was fourteen, my family spent part of the summer in California. As a huge follower of the Sweet Dreams book series, I fantasized about meeting some cute California boy and falling head-over-heels in love (as in Summer Dreams by Barbara Conklin, Sweet Dreams Romance Books #60, Bantam Books).
Chris happened to live next door to my aunt and uncle. He was a blonde surfer type, two years older and a bit on the goofy side. He wore nothing but three-quarter length sleeved tops and jammer shorts with his nuts often hanging out of the side. It disgusted and scared me, but didn't prevent our little love affair from flourishing.
Our summer romance continued into the fall with phonecalls and Stetson-infused letters. My grade nine sistas loved to read the correspondence, even though his chicken scratches were barely legible and they took turns sniffing the pages.
I think my best memories were calling him from the home ec. office telephone when the teacher left the room.
I'm not really sure how it all ended... (Something about getting caught smoking weed and having to move to his Mom's house). Wherever you are, CP, this one's for you. Giddyup.
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