I've always been told that I'm a good storyteller, so I thought for my free write this week I would see if I can write stories as well as I can tell them. Maybe all my power is in the delivery? Perhaps my facial expressions? We shall see...
Once upon a time I was five years old. And I loved boys. A lot. Most girls tell stories about being chased by boys around the playground and that did happen to me on occasion, but most of the time I took matters into my own hands. One night I really really took matters into my own hands.
My parents had some family friends over for a barbeque that summer night. One of the families had a son my age who I was absolutely in love with. His name was Mark, he had brown hair and brown eyes, and he was tall, probably about 3' 5". I decided that Mark was a good thing that I couldn't just let get away, so I planned my proposal to him all evening.
When it got dark I made sure we were out on the porch together. The sky was full of stars and the swimming pool had the reflection of the pool in it. Could it have been any more romantic? I waited until I felt that the moment was right and then I simply asked him: "Mark, will you marry me?"
Silence.
And then to my shock a one-word answer: "No."
I couldn't believe it. "Why," I asked, "would you pass up this opportunity? You have to get married one day and you might as well choose me while I'm still available."
For some reason my logic did not register in his five-year old mind. He stood by his answer and I stood by the pool dumbfounded.
Fifteen years later I ran into his parents at my sister's wedding reception. "Kylie," they said, "remember when you proposed to our son? We really should get you two on a date, you'd be perfect together!"
My answer? "I think he had his chance."
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