My first noteworthy Valentine's Day memory was hatched at the tender age of 11. I was in grade 6 (or standard 4 as it was called back then) and had only just started to think that (while most of them were still gross) one or two of the boys weren't that bad to look at. I wasn't one of the popular girls, I didn't have need for a training bra just yet and my mom still wouldn't let me shave my legs – so, you see, I was hardly, strutting around the corridors making twelve-year old boys stammer. And so, when Valentine's Day rolled around I wasn't expecting roses or chocolates or declarations of love from secret prepubescent admirers... At best, my older brother might have taken pity on me and sent a little heart-shaped chocolate on a stick.
Imagine my surprise when I returned from second break, strolled up to the site of my next class only to find a mini-crowd of my peers hovering around the spot where I'd left my backpack. One of my friends bounced up to me with a great big smile on her face and pulled me inside the huddle to show me what all the fuss was about – it would appear that I had a secret admirer. A rather serious one at that. One that thought that a red rose and a card would not suffice... so instead there were chocolates, balloons, lots of roses and a very large envelope with a very large card in it. On opening the card, the 'secret' bit dissolved as the admirer in question had been brave enough to sign his name. Pretty advanced (and pretty brave) behaviour for a twelve-year old...
And that was the start of it all, the beginning of my need to be wined and dined and wooed. On that day in 1994 that sweet young man forever changed the rules of my personal version of the dating game – he set the standard pretty high for the boys (and later the men) that would make their intentions known throughout my teenage years and into my early twenties.
There I was going about my normal schoolgirl life totally unaware that I was becoming some young man's first real crush. In retrospect my not-so-secret admirer taught me was that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder and that you don't have to be something other than yourself to draw the right kind of attention. In fact, being yourself (unshaven legs and all) can be pretty effective... and at the end of the day, quite pretty.
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