I've always been rubbish at dating. Some women seem to have the magic touch - a friend of mine was asked out on a date whilst she was waiting at a pedestrian crossing for the lights to change. Fat chance of that ever happening to me! I'm the girl who's elbowed aside in everyone's rush to reach the other side.
I was in primary school when I had my first crush. His name was Louis. To my eight year old eyes, he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen - dark brown eyes, wavy black hair, olive skin and most importantly, he had a GI Joe doll. I got the idea from somewhere that the best way of letting him know that I liked him, was to look at him a lot and somehow he'd just know that we were meant to be together and spend the rest of our lives together making mud pies and tormenting my brothers. So I did. Look at him a lot, that is. In art lessons, I'd smile at him across the table and forget to do my work. In maths lessons, I'd glance at him a lot hoping that the intensity of my feelings could be conveyed by telekinesis and that he'd send the answer to the complicated equations back in gratitude.
So did my clever plan work? Did Louis fall in love with me? Well, no, not really. Louis told the teacher that I was a stupid girl who kept glaring at him and frowning and he couldn't think about his work because he thought I was going to hit him. I was moved to a different seat across the classroom and told to stop bothering him. So ended my first great love.
Things have continued in the same vein ever since.