When I was a teen… I stalked a boy until he became my boyfriend |
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When I was a teen… I stalked a boy until he became my boyfriend

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I’m an obsessive person—just ask my mother or my husband. I used to collect pencil leads—jars and jars of them—as a kid. When I was 12, I decided primates were my favourite animal, so I spent an entire week on my haunches pretending to be a chimpanzee (and I wonder why I had so few friends…) I also once grew a rattail in honour of my favourite member of boyband Hanson. I know. Eew.

So, when I developed a crush on a guy at school who looked like he belonged in the aforementioned boyband there was only one thing to do—OBSESS. First—I learned his schedule. He was a couple of years older than me (I was 14, he was 16), so we had no classes together and only passed each other occasionally in the corridors. Every time I did, I marked it in my own timetable—with a love heart, of course.

Sentimental Sunday_StalkerOh. Hey. I didn’t see you there. Much.

I started with eye contact. I was incredibly shy, so at this point the thought of actually talking to him made me want to throw up. The day the eye contact started being reciprocated I think I just about burst a blood vessel. HE KNEW I EXISTED! Now what? Thankfully, I had a very outgoing friend (I’ve always had one of these at any given point in my life, which tends to be mirrored by the friendships in my books. They’re an absolute necessity for an introvert like me).

My extroverted friend spoke to his friends, who caught her bus home from school. She not only found out that he liked me (for my personality, of course), but managed to arrange a meeting. I was on the verge of vomiting when I walked over to where he stood, flanked by all of his friends. I can still remember the heat of the sun and how there was no grass, just this yellowish dirt that floated in the air. I also remember reminding myself that if I wanted him to be my boyfriend I had to stop STALKING and start TALKING. Of course, it was ALL KINDS OF AWKWARD. I had nothing to say. He had nothing to say. His friends had A LOT to say—and none of it nice. I ended up walking away with my tail between my legs.

I have no memory of how we actually started dating. There was a trip to the movies. There was a bit of hand holding. A sneaky kiss at a school disco. And a lot of long phone conversations about him blowing up letterboxes (turned out, we had very little in common). When the relationship started looking like it was on the road to nowhere I was saved by him cheating. Yes. I say saved, even though at the time I relished singing bad karaoke with my friends and writing dark poetry. The opportunity for teenage angst was too good to pass up.

Sentimental Sunday_Stalker3I actually just wanted to tick this off my bucket list.

I think our relationship lasted about a quarter as long as my stalking. The moral of the story is perhaps the chase is much more exciting. Although I’ve now been with my husband for thirteen years, so perhaps the moral is you have to be interested in pyrotechnics if you’re going to date a guy who blows up letterboxes.

On Sundays, I let myself get all dewy-eyed, particularly about my teen years, which weren’t that long ago, thank you very much! Join me for a wander down memory lane and read all of my sentimental posts here. Just watch out for the puddles caused by my tears of angst.

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