Sunday, 09 January 2005 | The power of suggestion

The prospect of having a boyfriend frightened me. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to one, and it seemed a rather stressful thing to pursue, since the purpose and the rules were a complete mystery to me. I wanted the knowledge, but without the clumsy research.

At first, I didn't think Bobby was very cute. He was incredibly pale (though his cheeks were abnormally flush), and his blond hair, which was really a sallow off-white, was always styled in such as way that it resembled a (very) premature comb-over. As a package, he was a chronically blushing phantom of a boy, whose mother dressed him in Hushpuppies and plaid button-down collared shirts. A little ghosty man 8 years of age.

But back then crushes were developed because the most assertive girl in the group decided who was attractive; often it had little to do with any real magnetism. Once the cute boy du jour was determined, I almost immediately reassessed my initial impressions (whether negative or nonexistent), oddly trusting the subjective taste of my most obnoxious peer over my own judgment. Through that process, Bobby's bleached complexion gradually became appealing to me.

It was Kristie, in this case, who told me Bobby was desirable. Michelle subsequently conceded, and soon the three of us were paying strict attention to Bobby's every move, every ugly plaid shirt that he wore to school. We talked about what it would be like to "go with" him, ignorantly speculating as to what that even meant. None of us wanted to forge ahead on our own (too scary) and none of us wanted to betray the other two girls. As a solution, we decided that we should all date Bobby simultaneously.

Bobby was agreeable to this arrangement, even though it meant three times the effort: three times the handwritten notes passed from desk to desk, three times the coy compliments delivered in whispers, three times the chocolate-filled heart-shaped boxes on Valentine's Day. He treated us with diplomatic equality, never making one of us feel any less of a girlfriend than the other two. It was almost business-like.

Naturally, it was Kristie who eventually suggested that we break up with Bobby. I don't know why, really, as he was so friendly, attentive, and fair (in more ways than one!), but Michelle and I were the reactionary part of the three-headed beast, and we gave in easily to Kristie's proposition. Poor Bobby got broken up with three times—in one pitiful, crazy-folded note after another.