Ah, the dreaded day that saps romance of all spontaneity. 'Nuff said?
In eight years of blogging, I've told just about all of my unlucky-in-love anecdotes, but here's one that puzzles me to this day.
At my eighth-grade graduation dance, my sights were set on a girl I'd crushed on for four years. As I worked up the nerve to approach her, another girl asked me to dance. I put out my hands in acceptance, but she ran away crying.
Up to then, she and I had been friendly, but I hadn't been asked to dance much before. I regret if my gesture somehow signaled disinterest or reluctance. I didn't get the chance to ask or explain.
If you'd like six wry stories of love for your Kindle or Nook, buy my ebook Call Me Cupid. If poetry is more your bag, there's my collection We Might Have.