Jenny: November 2007 Archives

When you crushed a hundred snails on my parent's driveway and met their incredulous looks with a cheerful "Hi!  I'll clean that up!"  you left us flabbergasted.  I guess they weren't God's creatures like you?

Your warm smile and willingness to laugh at IKEA-speak made our first meal together fun.  Later, you sent me links to rap impressions on YouTube and called yourself a winner in your gmail status bar.

When you gave yourself a blond streak in your hair, the girls in our suburban middle school thought you were the coolest thing ever.  So New Wave!  It looked like a banana on your head.

You lived next door when I was four years old, and your basement playroom walls were covered in your crayon scribbles.  At the time, I was scandalized.  Now, I'm living it with my own kids.

For the love of Sam you became a Mormon, but you married someone else.  You had wildly curly hair and we both cooked hot dogs at the car dealership on the weekends for $5 an hour.

You raised a family of six giant-sized kids in a three bedroom house and always had a pet rabbit in living in your yard.  An ER nurse, you don't take any crap off of anyone.

You were my first school crush - and yet the only thing I can recall is your name.  Jennifer E. and I would fight over you, and I think you had curly hair.  Ah, preschool memories.

My mom surprised us with yellow sweatshirts with those iron-on letters that said BEST on yours and FRIENDS on mine.  We couldn't coordinate, so you seemed boastful and apparently my boobs were my buddies.  Awesome.

You played the clarinet beautifully, and sat next to me in Social Studies.  We ran into each other at the mall once, and you showed me your newly purchased electric blue bra.  I wanted one.