I Really Am Going to Bed Soon.

But I was reading some blogs, and came across Dani's post about her Chuck Taylors, and it took me on this trip down memory lane (ok, memory highway - still).

You know that crush you had in high school that just completely defined you? Mine was for Blake Washer. Oh my dear holy lord, did I love Blake Washer. What's funny, is if I happened to have a picture of him and I posted it here, the comments left would say, "Jeez, Sara, he looks dead," or, "you're joking, right?"

He was uber-tall, skinny as a rail, pale as a ghost, and had this stringy long black hair that hung in his face all the time. He was so, so sexy, and he was so, so unavailable. He and Brenna had been dating for two years by the time I *met* him (a quick google search - yep, that was me - will tell you that he and Brenna have been happily married for, oh, pretty much EVER).

Ok, but the point is, I loved him.

He had these completely beautiful green corduroy Chuck Taylors that I have lusted after officially for more 12 years now (found 'em on eBay, in case you're wondering, and no, I'm not giving out the link because ONE DAY I will be able to afford them).

I, on the other hand, had simple black Chuck Taylors. I had been wearing them for well over a year, and they were the kind of shoes that you didn't want to take off for fear of clearing the room. Nasty, nasty shoes.

Each morning I would enter Psychology class and before I could sit down, Blake would drop onto the floor and caress my shoes while he made the loudest orgasm noises he could muster.

I would die a little inside each time, because how many times did *your* high school crush molest your shoes? Uh-huh. That's what I thought.

That's just how my friends rolled.

One day, I said something to him and he got upset, and this was one of those guys that was really hard to piss off - so when you did it, you had screwed up pretty bad.

I was devastated. Completely and totally devastated. I agonized over how to apologize - how to tell him that I just LOVED him and that's why I was so awkward around him!

I finally realized what I had to do.

I had to sacrifice the shoes.

I put them in an old shoe box and lovingly wrapped them with Christmas wrapping paper (I distinctly remember this being in the springtime). Then I got in my car and drove the whole 4 blocks to his house and rang the doorbell.

He answered the door, and I wordlessly handed him the box. Then I left.

The next day in Psychology class, I came in with my new Chuck Taylors on. He was sad, and said that they weren't disgusting enough to be molested, but that he understood how important the gift I had given him was, and he loved it. He also said he had never received a present that disgusting in his life.

I really, really want those shoes back.