He promised me the world. He said, “I love you so much, I will give you whatever you want. Marry me”. It was a lie, and I knew it. After all, he lived in a trailer park, and…. he was seven.

My whole Kindergarten year went like this: Everyday at nap time, Matthew pulled his mat next to mine cornering me so I couldn’t get away. We weren’t allowed to move or talk. But Some how, he persevered through the “silent” rule, and everyday he would say, “I will buy you every Barbie doll in the whole world, if that‘s what you want”. As a super-shy, highly-conscientious little girl, I would downright lie, “I don’t like Barbies”. “Well, I can get you anything else you want, G.I. Joes?”. He wasn’t getting it.

Second grade was going to be my new fresh start away from my “stalker”, Matthew. I was so paranoid that I was convinced Matthew (living within walking distance) would watch me through my basement. Every shower I took, I would cover the hole in the wall with my washcloth just incase he could see me. I was extremely paranoid.

One year later: During reading time while Ms. Black was eating her daily Whopper, in front of all of us, before lunch, there was a knock at the classroom door. We all watched expectantly. Ms. Black walked over to me and whispered with her Whopper/cigarette breath, someone was at the door for me. In the hallway, I found Matthew ,with a huge smile on his face, waiting for me. He told me he still loved me. He wanted to be my boyfriend and wanted us to get married. He gave me a card he had made and a piece of candy. Anxiety rose in me from the pit of my stomach to my throat. Why hadn’t he gotten the idea that I was never going to be his girlfriend? I told him, “I am sorry. I am not allowed to have a boyfriend, we are only in 1st grade”. As soon as I walked back in the classroom, Kevin was waiting for me at my cubby. He had dropped off his own note professing his love. Kevin… was a glue eater. Gross.

Twenty years later… The glue eater and the trailer park kid have turned into the “gay” best friend, the gold chain wearer, the glue eater, the nerd that misunderstood , the black leather jacket guy at he library, the red bandana jock, the guy who cant actually tell me, the fan of Nickelback… these are the guys who profess their love to me. These are the ones who want to spend the rest of our lives in marital bliss. Never the one I really want.

Oh, Valentine’s Day. Second Wave feminists probably declare this day from hell or Hallmark (what’s the difference, really?). Perhaps, as an “addicted to love” society, we can’t actually not have feelings for the day. If we hate it, then are we more obsessed with it, than if it’s just ignored?

Even when I am dating someone, I don’t really like to celebrate Valentine’s day as a date day, but would rather enjoy the pink and red decorations and eat burnt-bottomed cupcakes my five year old neighbor gave me, watching the Olympics, realizing how out of shape I am or discover my giant thighs were handmade by God to be a speed skater- missed that calling. Nevertheless, I still find myself listening to the messages of our “addicted to love” society and believe I won’t be happy until I find the one who loves me as much as I love them. Somehow, I believe in the fairy tales I have been told my whole life aiding my concept of love, falling in love, being in love to be asymmetrical and confused. One thing I do know, that if I try to avoid it, I will never have the chance to find out if true love does exist. I will never feel so alive as when my heart aches in longing for him or breaking from rejection. In the wise words of Robert Palmer, “I might as well face it; I’m addicted to love”.



“Love is the life of our heart. According to it, we desire, rejoice, hope, and despair, fear, take heart, hate, avoid things, feel sad, grow angry, and exult.” - Francis De Sales