Finding My One

Not very many people are lucky enough to find the love of their life, let alone when they are 12 years old. I don’t know if it was his baby face or my incredibly awkward reaction to boys, but either way we were slow in the making. We were just your average 7^thgraders who couldn't help, but be drawn to each other. He would do silly impressions and I would refuse to hug boys, we didn't know anything, but somewhere in between the acne and the late nights staying up to text each other we fell in love.

            I remember it like it was yesterday, I knew I wanted to go with him to prom, and I would use every resource I had to let him know that. My friends left subtle hints that I wanted to go with him, but these “subtle hints” turned out to about as subtle as a gun. He knew I wanted to go with him, but did he want to go with me? There were other boys wanting to go, but they weren't him. I got a letter asking me to prom, and the same day a text from Dallin saying he wanted to go and heard someone else was going to ask me. Naturally I wanted to throw in the towel and say “I’m all yours!” but who was this mystery man? I would take a guess and leave hints to other boys that I was taken, but I would keep getting these secret letters with no name. I felt so guilty for spending some boy’s money that I wasn't going to go with. Then came the huge bouquet of roses. Seriously though, I may have been slightly shorter then, but it seems like they were at least the size of a small chair. This was too much! They must’ve cost someone a fortune. The letter read “I know I’m not your first choice, but please give me a chance. You can open the letter hidden in the flowers to find out who wants to take you to the dance.” Buried deep in the flowers was a note I failed to notice before. I opened it and it was from my future husband asking me to prom, that snake in the grass! I was so mad! I was stressing out this whole time and it was him all along!
            I have never been one to let things go so this meant war. He played me like a fiddle and I planned to get him right back. I plotted and planned and the big day came.

           He stormed into class and said “you!” I may or may not have planted some spices that looked similar to drugs and bottles that looked like beer bottles in his car. Then I may have had the local policeman pull him over in front of the school right when everyone was going to class. He still has anxiety about police cars, but what can I say? It was the beginning of our happily ever after.

Love,
The Littlefield's