When I was a kid, probably six or seven years old, I found myself alone with my mom’s collection of makeup. I experimented with at least one of the products and then went about my day. Later that night, I was sitting in bed crying (I think it was regarding an unrelated matter, but I can’t say that for sure). My mom sat next to me, put her arm around me, leaned in and said, “I think your mascara is running.” I’m convinced this is why I am averse to makeup to this day.
When I was in fifth grade, I had a crush on (my now best friend) Nate. The school had recently implemented a postal system of sorts, where kids could write letters to their friends in other classes, put them in an envelope, and have them delivered. Not really sure what the point was, but anyway, it existed. I had the brilliant idea to send Nate a letter that said something to the effect of, “Dear Nate, I like you. Do you like me? Circle one: Yes, No. From, Rachel.” I should also mention that we were in the same class, so in theory I could have just handed it to him. But no, I used the system as it was designed, so when the mail was delivered, I stealthily watched as he looked at the envelope, opened it, and then called all of the other boys over to his desk. And then they laughed and laughed. I went over to another girl in class and started talking to her about totally random stuff so the boys would think I didn’t notice. Interesting footnote to that story: later in fifth grade, Nate did, in fact, “ask me out,” and we “dated” for a solid couple of weeks until one of us ended it (although we can never agree who it was).
When I was a sophomore in college, I went on a trip to MA with my friend Inga to visit her friend at Harvard. There were plans to go to a party the night we got there. Everyone pregamed in the friend’s apartment, but all they had to drink was a bottle of Grey Goose. I was invited to take shots, but declined and said that I would simply drink once we got to the party. So, a little while later we end up at the “party,” which turned out to be a school-sanctioned event at a dorm. Which meant no booze. And it wasn’t the kind of party where there were some people dancing and some people hanging out on the sidelines being wallflowers. Everyone was dancing. So I danced. For about 2 hours. Completely sober. With this boy from West Point named Tommy Yee, who was very nice about it and tried to show me some “moves,” but it was really just terrible.
Maybe more to come at a later date, if I can recover them from the depths of my subconscious…?