We all have that one person. You know, that guy or girl you crushed on or dated or hooked up with that none of your friends understand. He’s probably completely unattractive to the general public, but to you, this person is Prince Charming.
My person was Don. He was an Irish-Puerto Rican (these two should never mix) junior at my high school when I was a freshman. He weighed about 97 pounds and had a head of pubic hair. (Boy do I know how to pick ’em!)
We were in a show together and something about him just turned me on. He had sweet eyes and was definitely smooth, despite not having any actual game. My naive 14-year-old self was smitten.
We dated on and off for a year before he moved on to newer and younger meat. I was heartbroken. He was a scumbag. What sucked even more was being stuck in plays with him and having to watch him flirt with new girls. I put on a brave face and moved on to much more attractive men, but part of me still wanted to exact revenge.
I got my chance that summer. One night, my best friend and I were having a sleepover and I saw that Don’s AIM Away Message said he was hanging out at his friend Billy’s house. Billy lived three doors down from me. This was the perfect opportunity.
Once it was dark, Helen and I grabbed a carton of eggs and snuck down the street. The plan was to egg his car, which he was extremely proud of, and then run like mad back to my house.
We came upon the beige sedan which I had ridden in many times without my mother’s knowledge. I was finally going to get my payback.
I couldn’t do it. I talk big, but inside I’m a sweetheart and would never hurt a fly. Even if that fly is a douche.
While standing there facing a moral dilemma, we were startled by the sound of voices. Don and his friends were coming out of the house! We freaked out, dropped the eggs in the street, and ran.
I knew they were too close for us to make it all the way home without them spotting us, so we ran next door and hid behind this giant bush in the front yard. I heard Don ask why the hell there were eggs in the street before getting into his car and starting it.
I thought we were safe until I saw headlights shining right into the bush. He was probably just turning around, but I was convinced he had spotted us.
We dove into the bush and I felt my left flip flop slip off in the branches. We held our breath for a couple minutes until we were sure the car was gone and there was no one around. I searched in desparation for my missing flop: it was my favorite pair and I couldn’t stand to lose it.
I searched in vain before finally calling it quits and trudging back home. I decided I would continue my search in daylight.
The next day, Helen and I took my dog for a walk, a clever rouse that would allow us to sneak a peak in the bush. Unfortunately, the neighbors caught me as I was on my hands and knees, head first in their shrubbery. I made up an excuse about losing a ball and once again fled the scene.
Two weeks later, I noticed that the neighbors were ripping up the bush. I waited patiently for them to go inside, and then ran down to see if I could find my missing shoe. It was no where to be found.
To this day, I have no idea what happened to my shoe. Maybe one day a boy will return it to me and I can truly have a Cinderella story.