True story.
When I was a little girl I had the biggest crush on a much older guy at my church. And when I say guy I really mean man. He was a man. A much older man. But I was hung up ... big time.
I used to position myself in the congregation at church so I could stare at him on the platform - no he was not the pastor - he was in the band. Even better.
I would wait by the door when we arrived on a Sunday morning so he would "accidentally" pass me by as he entered the building.
I would leave notes stuck to the windshield of his car ... notes written on Monopoly Money and old napkins and used Sunday School papers.
I had basically mastered the art of stalking at age eight. (I honestly do not know how my parents survived my childhood).
Despite my obvious desperate yearning to be an "older woman" so I could live happily ever after with Mr. Fantastic, I was still a little girl. And little girls love little girly things. Even the tomboys.
I loved scented lip balms.
(Do you remember the chocolate flavoured Chap Stick? I used to eat that stuff. I think some parent somewhere must have sued Chap Stick 'cause their kid probably ate too much and had some weird unidentified illness they eventually linked back to their overindulgence of chocolate flavoured Chap Stick because they discontinued it ... sad.)
Somewhere, somehow, I had managed to obtain a tin of Root Beer flavoured lip balm. I know - awesome, right? And I liked the way it made my lips feel and I loved the way it tasted and I used it all the time. I would layer this stuff on.
One Sunday I was putting the five hundredth layer on during church when the band came off the platform. And Mr. Fantastic started to walk in the direction of where my friends and I were sitting. I started freaking OUT. And then it happened. Mr. Fantastic sat right in front of me.
I was so happy I almost fainted. My cousin - and best friend - knew how immensely happy I was at this turn of events and rolled her eyes to illustrate her happiness. What can I say ... girls are complicated ...
I was just about to turn and stick my tongue out at her when I heard him say, "Why does it smell like Root Beer? I hate Root Beer." Emphasis on the word hate.
I cannot properly communicate to you how completely devastated I was. I loved Root Beer AND my Root Beer lip balm. And Mr. Fantastic hated it. Hated.
I was so distressed I dropped the stupid lip balm on the floor and it - loudly - rolled down the slanted floor and hit something and stopped. I watched in horror as he bent down to pick it up. He examined the red heart shaped tub and lifted it to his nose for a sniff. And then exclaimed that he'd found the source of the nastiness.
My heart was no longer beating and I thought I would die. I was sure I would die. My only hope in that moment was that he would put the tin down and he wouldn't make the connection between me and the little red tin.
But he slowly turned around. And he smiled. And he looked at me and said "does this belong to you?"
And with my face nine hundred shades of crimson, I reached out a shaky hand and took back the stupid, dumb, stinky tin of Root Beer lip balm. And resolved that my life - short as it had been - was over and there was no longer any point to living.
You can't imagine how horrific this entire scene was for a little eight year old girl in love. I was embarrassed yes, but more importantly I was devastated because he hated something that I loved so much. It was like, in that moment, I knew we could never be together ... unless ...
And right there and then I decided that I too hated Root Beer and would never again drink the stuff or put it on my lips or buy Root Beer scented perfume or wear Root Beer coloured clothing.
Because if I hated Root Beer then there was still a small chance that he and I could be together - I would be willing to give up my Root Beer lip balm for him.
Sigh.
I love Root Beer. Still.
I realized eventually that Root Beer was not the thing keeping us apart and that it had a great deal more to do with the massive age difference.
(Footnote ... he informed me a few years ago that he kept all those "notes" I'd placed on his windshield in a box and that he and his wife read through them from time to time and giggle about how cute it was. Yeah. Awesome.)
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