On Why I Subconsciously Dislike Anyone Named Sarah...
In the First grade, I had a crush on a girl named Sarah, my first crush actually. There’s a picture of her somewhere in our family albums, but I’m too lazy to look for it. I vaguely remember crushing on her all year long. With the school year almost coming to an end, I decided to make my move during our May Pole performance.
Before the performance, my mom took me to Payless to pick up a new pair of shoes. For reasons unbeknownst to me, she bought me a pair of boat shoes. They were navy with a grayish-white leather lace and matching sole. I had preferred some Roos with velcro straps and who can blame me, I was six; but I digress.
I had to find a way to show Sarah that I liked her. What better way to show her my affection than giving her my most beloved action figure Wicket W. Warrick. Yes, I gave her my Ewok. I really loved Wicket and again, who can blame me, I was six. My Wicket action figure was something I never left out of my sight.
A few days after the performance, I had a classmate ask her how she felt. Obviously not verbatim, but it was something to the tune of, “Ew, I don’t like him, he’s gross.” Definitely a bummer, and not because she didn’t reciprocate, she didn’t even give me my Ewok back.
