While not my favorite rejection story, I’ll start off the truly self-depreciative portion of this blog with my first full-scale emotional hurricane, Caroline. Looking back, this seventh grade tragedy would lay the groundwork for many future weather related injuries and prove once-and-for-all that I never learn from my mistakes.
Caroline and I both transferred into Rye Country Day School in the seventh grade, which is about the time girls stopped giving me the koodies and started giving me something else. If memory serves me correct, we both had Mr. Hart for Social Studies, in retrospect a fitting backdrop for one’s first encounter with the opposite sex. After quietly observing Caroline for a few days, I worked up the courage to tell my best friend Andy about her and we decided that I should ask her to the Mock Prom in June. The Mock Prom was kind of like my school’s answer to the Lord of the Flies, only set in a middle school gymnasium against the backdrop of the electric slide. Being the over analytical idiot that I still am, I spent about 2 months pondering how to ask Caroline to the Mock Prom, which is kind of ironic since at the end of the day my friend’s mom drove our entire seventh grade clique in her mini-van anyway.
During my eight weeks of deliberation, I observed the situation from every angle, consulting a handful of my closest friends along the way. Each friend then consulted a few of their closest friends, including Andy who decided to poll Caroline on the subject matter herself. I’m not sure how it all went down but I distinctly remember being rejected before I actually popped a question, which I guess kind of disqualifies Caroline as my first face-to-face denial, but I digress.
Eleven years later we are still friends and Andy has since applied his negotiating skills to the White House as a Bush Administration political appointee. So the moral of this story is two fold: when it comes to girls the motto is “less talk, more tongue” and when it comes to politics, never trust a Republican.