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That day, and every day that comes after. My own dating history is a dark and meandering story filled with adventure, danger, lots of smeared mascara, and naughty bits in various states of undress.
But what if I never get the chance? How will I teach her what I learned about life from playing Strip Backgammon with my upstairs neighbor? The only solution is this: I must write down deliberately and with absolute and horrifying clarity the story of my former loves, and the lessons that they taught me, all while the memories and shame are still fresh enough to make me hot-faced and queasy. His very presence in a room electrified me; it was as though he was the scent of a chocolate fountain, and I was a walking nostril, so attracted to him was I.
He was a jock with a bad-boy streak; he loved heavy metal music and often threw parties where there were drinking and drugs, and if you were a girl you stood a very good chance of being felt up. Yet I had no shame where S. Surprisingly, my methods worked. It took a few years, but eventually I won him over and was able to call myself the official girlfriend of Soccer Legs McGee.
Soccer Legs McGee taught me Lesson 1, that, given enough ingenuity and lack of shame, there is no person, place, thing, or goal that is out of your league or beyond your reach. I would learn the second lesson shortly thereafter, upon discovering that SLMcG and I were a poor match, due to the fact that a he hated books—all books—with a dumb passion, and b he loved making out with girls who were my locker partner. He was the first guy who thought I was interesting and wanted to kiss me anyway.
