signed by Cynthia Tinderholdt. The “o” in her named transformed into a smiley face.
Cynthia had always wanted to put a smiley face in her name but the letter “a” didn’t work well. Now that she’s married to Vic Tinderholdt she got her wish. The last card read. “See, Megan. For one tiny, little, wee, drop of a moment, you wanted those cards to be from a man. Someone dedicated to your heart alone. Someone to fill those lonely nights calling you like a Victorian spinster. You thought about cuddling the flowers to your breasts.”
I immediately dropped all the flowers at my door step.
Only to have a young child about ten years old come riding by on his skate board. “I’ll help you pick them back up Miss.” He dutifully gathered every flower, card, and petal and pushed them back into my arms.
I thanked him, but I wanted to strangle him for being so nice. “You’re such a sweet boy.”
“My mom says sweet boys always find their true love.”
Only if they control what inside their pants, the little future brats. I smiled. “You’re mom must know many nice boys getting married. Here give her one of my cards. I struggled to keep the flowers from tumbling out of my grasps as I handed him my card.
“Golly thanks. I think mom will know someone. Then she can come back here and buy me one of them tall three-tiered cakes.”
I sighed as the confused little boy rode off. If all little boys stayed nice like him, through puberty, college, until old age, the world would turn out much better. I had my doubts but at the moment, I hoped for something positive.
Once inside I trashed every flower; no offense to the Earth. I ripped up every powered pink card. I tossed it all in the trash. Just as my cell phone buzzed again.
“Megan Bedrosian wedding catering and party supplies.”
“Did you feel the love?” Cynthia boasted on the other end.
I decided to whiplash her mind first. “My heart doesn’t allow feelings of romantic love from the same gender.”
“That’s just a teaser. When you go to Olivia’s Lover’s Dance party real men will be there. No phantom flower bearers. You are turned toward that long romantic path up the castle on the hill where Prince Charming awaits you.”
“Even if Prince Charming is at the Lover’s Dance, I can avoid him body, heart and soul.”
“You can’t do that. You promised to give it a try for one year! That’s the bet.”
“I refuse to marry someone else others believe satisfies my love and lust.”
“Oh, come off it Megan. Give in to those loving thoughts of togetherness. Time spent in the presence of male energy, sparkling and crackling desire, and need for you.”
“Why are the men not giving in to our loving thoughts of togetherness?” I said robotically.
“Isn’t that what I just said,” Cynthia laughed a soft giggle.
I hated her giggle. She could turn the whole high school against a person using that well timed girly laugh. “I meant—maybe it is changing. I hope it changes. I want men to stop trying to get in my pants before they find out what my heart, mind and soul contain. Men grow up and stop being boys first and men second, I say to myself.”
Cynthia giggled. You poor feminist. You don’t want to kiss many frogs.”
“Those frogs can kiss other frogs for all I care.”
“You coming to the Lover’s Dance or losing the bet?” Cynthia demanded.
“No way am I letting you two gloat and brag about how I don’t know if marriage is a good thing. I don’t know because I’ve never tried to get married?
“Bring that charming ever-smiling smile of yours Megan. The men love it!”
Now Megan had managed to turn my smile into a man-lure. First my perky boobs. Then my bubble butt. Or my sparkling eyes. Now my smile was the last bastion against being a walking-talking sex lure labeled only a male magnet device.
Chapter Four
July, 2012
I wore a long white dress and a skinny chic belt around my waist and sensible ankle
Cynthia had always wanted to put a smiley face in her name but the letter “a” didn’t work well. Now that she’s married to Vic Tinderholdt she got her wish. The last card read. “See, Megan. For one tiny, little, wee, drop of a moment, you wanted those cards to be from a man. Someone dedicated to your heart alone. Someone to fill those lonely nights calling you like a Victorian spinster. You thought about cuddling the flowers to your breasts.”
I immediately dropped all the flowers at my door step.
Only to have a young child about ten years old come riding by on his skate board. “I’ll help you pick them back up Miss.” He dutifully gathered every flower, card, and petal and pushed them back into my arms.
I thanked him, but I wanted to strangle him for being so nice. “You’re such a sweet boy.”
“My mom says sweet boys always find their true love.”
Only if they control what inside their pants, the little future brats. I smiled. “You’re mom must know many nice boys getting married. Here give her one of my cards. I struggled to keep the flowers from tumbling out of my grasps as I handed him my card.
“Golly thanks. I think mom will know someone. Then she can come back here and buy me one of them tall three-tiered cakes.”
I sighed as the confused little boy rode off. If all little boys stayed nice like him, through puberty, college, until old age, the world would turn out much better. I had my doubts but at the moment, I hoped for something positive.
Once inside I trashed every flower; no offense to the Earth. I ripped up every powered pink card. I tossed it all in the trash. Just as my cell phone buzzed again.
“Megan Bedrosian wedding catering and party supplies.”
“Did you feel the love?” Cynthia boasted on the other end.
I decided to whiplash her mind first. “My heart doesn’t allow feelings of romantic love from the same gender.”
“That’s just a teaser. When you go to Olivia’s Lover’s Dance party real men will be there. No phantom flower bearers. You are turned toward that long romantic path up the castle on the hill where Prince Charming awaits you.”
“Even if Prince Charming is at the Lover’s Dance, I can avoid him body, heart and soul.”
“You can’t do that. You promised to give it a try for one year! That’s the bet.”
“I refuse to marry someone else others believe satisfies my love and lust.”
“Oh, come off it Megan. Give in to those loving thoughts of togetherness. Time spent in the presence of male energy, sparkling and crackling desire, and need for you.”
“Why are the men not giving in to our loving thoughts of togetherness?” I said robotically.
“Isn’t that what I just said,” Cynthia laughed a soft giggle.
I hated her giggle. She could turn the whole high school against a person using that well timed girly laugh. “I meant—maybe it is changing. I hope it changes. I want men to stop trying to get in my pants before they find out what my heart, mind and soul contain. Men grow up and stop being boys first and men second, I say to myself.”
Cynthia giggled. You poor feminist. You don’t want to kiss many frogs.”
“Those frogs can kiss other frogs for all I care.”
“You coming to the Lover’s Dance or losing the bet?” Cynthia demanded.
“No way am I letting you two gloat and brag about how I don’t know if marriage is a good thing. I don’t know because I’ve never tried to get married?
“Bring that charming ever-smiling smile of yours Megan. The men love it!”
Now Megan had managed to turn my smile into a man-lure. First my perky boobs. Then my bubble butt. Or my sparkling eyes. Now my smile was the last bastion against being a walking-talking sex lure labeled only a male magnet device.
Chapter Four
July, 2012
I wore a long white dress and a skinny chic belt around my waist and sensible ankle
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