When you hear the words “First Kisses and Vomit” you don’t really assume it’s going to be a story about a fond childhood memory. Perhaps I don’t think so fondly about the vomit, but kisses are always good – even when you have to use vomit as an excuse for them!
When I was young I was boy-crazy! Actually, I have been boy crazy my whole life.
I was always “in love” and always had a boyfriend. I married Christopher Farmer in nursery school during a playground wedding and, although I do not recall the signing of an annulment or divorce papers, he was quickly forgotten when I entered kindergarten and met Jonathan Roberts. That’s me and Jonathan in the picture above. We are in the first grade here and already totally in love. I imagine we wanted to sit together but the teacher (or the alphabet) kept us separated. Perhaps, a good idea considered what would transpire the following year!
Oh, Jonathan! My first “true” love! The first boy I kissed and the first boy I ever went on a date with.
The first date was to a magic show. I have since grown to hate magic shows but I remember being thrilled to no end that I was going to the magic show with Jonathan.
The first kiss occurred in Jonathan’s bedroom! On his bed! Under a bed-tent! (Oh, shock and horror!) We were in the second grade. It lasted less than a second. But our lips actually touched!
And although it scared both of us almost to the point of peeing our pants when his mom called up the stairs that dinner was ready a mere fraction of a second after the kiss ended, it was not our last kiss.
Jonathan and I liked to kiss! Most of the kisses were so fast as to be almost non-existant but they were kisses. Let’s be honest, when you are seven the opposite sex is supposed to be icky and have cooties. We didn’t want ANYONE to know that we liked to kiss. Not our friends, not our parents and certainly not our teachers. We made a game out of sneaking in a kiss here and there when no one else would see. That got a little tricky when we were at school which was often the only place we saw each other.
Our school had a pretty large playground and this was the best place to sneak a kiss. The playground had these huge tractor tires that were partially embeded in the sand so that kids could climb on them and hide inside of them. A PRIME kissing location!
Day after day we would sneak into the tires and have a little kiss. It was all harmless fun until one day the unthinkable happened! We climbed out of the tractor to find an empty playground. Not a soul! While we were deep in the throws of second grade passions the teachers had blown the whistle and everyone had gone inside and somehow we had missed it! We just knew we were caught and we were going to be kicked out of school forever and our parents were going to kill us dead.
We needed a cover story and we needed one fast! Fortunately, I had a pretty good one built in.
When I was in the second grade I developed a mysterious anxiety disorder and as a result threw up every morning before school. This lasted well into high school and even occured at summer camp where fellow campers nicknamed me “Barflissa”. (Read more about that here.) Not only would I throw up before school, but if my family ever went to out-of-the-ordinary public places such as restaurants or theme parks I would be prompted to puke.
In my 34 years I have probably thrown up in every restaurant I have ever stepped foot in in New England. I have puked at Disney World, Epcot, Busch Gardens, Sea World, and every water park along the eastern seaboard. I have barfed in empty antifreeze containers and Bugles boxes full of vomit liter the highways along the east coast. I think my husband was seriously rethinking his decision to marry me when I threw up every night of our first year together.
Doctors could find nothing wrong with me and to this day I still have NO CLUE why I always puked. About a year into marriage the problem mysteriously disappeared for the most part. Ocassionally I find myself feeling sick at my stomach when a perticularily stressful situation arises but it seems my puking days are over.
I tell you all this to explain that telling our teachers we’d been at the nurse and not making out inside the tires on the playground was a completely valid and believable excuse.
I can’t recall what happened after that. I don’t know if the gig was up but I did go on to graduate and my parents didn’t kill me dead. I haven’t a clue where Jonathan Roberts is now but whenever I see a giant tractor tire I have take a moment to remember all of those fleeting kisses.
I wrote this article in response to a blogging prompt from the SITS Girls. They are having a week long “Fall Back into Blogging” event! If you’ve come to me because of the SITS Girls, WELCOME, thanks for visiting and have a look around! Don’t forget to sign up for my email feed or follow me on Twitter and Facebook! You can read other posts from today’s prompts here!