I was a rather lanky girl with short hair during high school. One of the uniforms available at high school had a pair of rather puffy shorts which I wore because it was a heck of a lot more comfortable than the drafty skirt and sports skirts that some of the girls wore. I also wore a sleeveless sport shirt that was from the uniform two generations back. I liked it because of the fabric which didn’t tear like the crappy white cotton button-up shirts didn’t. Oh, how I loathed those button-up shirts with their requirement to be ironed and the scratchiness of the material. If you look at my year 12 form and grade photos, you can see me in this grotesque outfit, and just make out a thong of one foot that was the product of me having had a recent surgery on an ingrown toenail.
I didn’t have many close friends, instead tending to hang around with anybody that would give me the time of day. This was usually a group of girls that were a year younger than me, who didn’t want to look weird while they gawked at some of the older boys they had crushes on. It never worked, but I couldn’t help but like the girls because they had kind hearts and had a head full of all of these fantasies, no matter how goofy their romanticism was.
My own romantic inclinations were spent mooning over cute boys that had to have a sense of humor. Much in all as I appreciated good looks, there was something more long-term about a personally. After all, a wealth of bad habits and poor lifestyle can often lead to attractiveness greatly lessening over time. (No, I am not saying that age automatically equals unattractiveness.) I recall liking a few of the boys designated as “street kids” in our youth group for their sense of humor, but they were never interested in goofy old me because there were other boobs to distract them. 😀
I won’t go into major details about my dating life, but suffice it to say that I ended up marrying my second boyfriend, the love of my life. I met him a week after I graduated year 12 at a Christmas Pageant in Brisbane. Within a month we were dating, and a fortnight after that I finally learned his last name. Yep, I’d never thought to ask his last name before that, thinking it rude, but the embarrassment of not knowing this vital piece of information about the man I was dating seemed a lot more relevant than that other thing. Within a month of dating my man, I knew that I was in love, and within 4 months we were engaged. seven months after we met, we were exchanging vows at a courthouse celebrant.