First of all, let’s just get this out of the way.

This does not exclude my gay readers either. Men, you know what I’m talking about, and ladies, while you may not love penis, there’s no denying that we’re all a sucker for chocolate and money. Surely you must have a male friend with whom you could use this feature to your advantage in a non-sexual manner.

Today is Valentine’s Day. The day where we celebrate this poor sap:

Once again, we have turned something incredibly tragic about a man who may, or may not have existed, into a holiday about presents.

And I am completely cool with that because I LOVE PRESENTS!!!

PRESENTS, PRESENTS, PRESENTS, PRESENTS!!! HOORAY FOR PRESENTS!

But more importantly on the topic of HOORAY…

Mr.P left for a 3 week tour last night, meaning I will be flying solo this evening. I’m ok with that. The presents aspect is really the only appealing thing to me anyway. It’s a little sad that people feel they need to set aside a day for love. I’m in it for the presents, which is at least honest.

Anyway, before I got all distracted by all of this chocolate talk, I was going to respond to the Daily Prompt’s challenge for the day, which is

Friday: I’m In Love.

Remember your first crush? Think about that very first object of your affection. Oh, the sweaty palms. The swoony feeling in your stomach. Tell us the story of your first crush. What was it about this person that made your heart pound? Was the love requited? Change the names to protect the guilty or innocent if you must! No judgement here. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Fist of all, you suck for The Cure earworm. I really can’t stand that song and now it is on repeat in my brain. You will receive no Beaten-Headless-Underground-Living-Guy Day presents from me! Hmpf.

I absolutely remember my first crush.

His name was Jeremy. I imagine it still is unless he’s changed it. I guess I’ll never know, and that’s a little depressing.

But this is a story of love, not sadness. Love and obsession and celebrity slandering.

Jeremy was a drummer. We were 5 or 6 years old. He had blonde hair and blue eyes just like Ricky Schroeder who I was also madly in love with. I have always had a thing for older men. I had written Ricky a letter via his fan club and had been anxiously awaiting his marriage proposal in the mail when school started, and I met Jeremy.

We sat next to each other and drew pictures of big round bodies with stick legs, drank milk together and played with Legos. I knew he felt it too, when he had an accident and peed his pants because he couldn’t make it to the toilet in time. It was clear then. Girls just know these things. There was no doubt in my mind, that we would soon be married.

One day, my Mom brought me to his house after school for a play date. Come on, really? I mean, the name says it all. Play DATE? You’re not fooling anyone, Jeremy.

We went to his bedroom and there it was. His drum set. He got behind the set and began pounding away a proper Neil Peart style solo. I had no idea who Rush or Neal Peart were, but now that I do, there’s no way it was anything less than a drum solo of that magnitude.

As he played, my heart swooned. Who was this mystery man wrapped up in an adorable 6-year-old package? All I knew was, this was the beginning of the end for me.

Musicians.

I was hooked. And the louder he played, the more mesmerized and drawn in I became. I started picturing our future kids, who in my 5-year-old mind, looked like my Cabbage Patch Kids. We would have a spring wedding, as to avoid the sweltering New Jersey summer, and he would buy me a horse and I would call it Mittens.

It was perfect.

My Mom took me home and I told her of our wedding plans. She laughed and I took that to mean she was completely cool with it and would take me dress shopping later that week.

The next day, however, I got a reply from Ricky Schroeder. It was an autographed glossy. It was addressed to ME. He took the time to write my name.

It was clear what needed to be done. There was no doubt that this glossy was a marriage proposal and I couldn’t deny the fate of Ricky and I.

I had to end it with Jeremy.

I went to school the next day and kicked Jeremy in the shin. This was how we handled things back then. He knew by the sheer force of my kick, that nothing he said or did would be powerful enough to break the bond of fate that Ricky and I shared. No words were needed. He looked at me, handed me the Lego star destroyer we had built together and walked to the yellow chair on the other side of the table.

I felt awful.

I walked over, and took the yellow chair out from underneath Jeremy. Apparently he didn’t understand that I would be getting that in the divorce, too.

3 months later, Jeremy’s dad got transferred and they moved and I never saw him again.

As for Ricky and I, after a year of planning the wedding and waiting for him to come and pick me up on the horse that he bought me called Mittens, I accepted that he wouldn’t be coming. I can only assume at that time, that it was because he got sucked into the Hollywood lifestyle and became a raging child star alcoholic.

I know better now.

It was obviously, because he is gay.

Wait. What?

Ricky Schroeder’s not gay?

Hmmpf. How do you like that.

Then clearly, it was heroin.

And that’s the story of my first crush.

Happy Chocolate Day Every One!

Oh and don’t forget to vote on your favorite photo if you haven’t done so yet. It only takes a second and a baby hedgehog won’t die.