Some firsts are better forgotten

Isn’t it strange that when we try to remember things, we don’t always remember the good things first?

I, like every girl, I’m sure, dreamt about my first kiss and how utterly romantic it would be. It would be with the guy of my dreams (and who I would most likely spend the rest of my life with). It would take place at some idyllic spot, a romantic picnic or something like that. I would remember it for the rest of my life and tell my grandchildren about it. I would get butterflies in my stomach each time that I would remember being swept off my feet.

The problem with the expectations that we create is that the real experience never quite lives up to those expectations.

Case in point; my first kiss was a total disaster.

I was 16. The guy I thought I liked was anything but “guy of my dreams” material.

The idyllic romantic spot just happened to be my bedroom.

It was absolutely awful. I remember thinking to myself “people actually enjoy this? I don’t think I ever want to do this again!” (I will admit that over time, this kissing thing did grow on me)

Something for the history books? Most certainly not! It is best forgotten.

*This post was written in response to “the daily prompt: First


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