The Happyish Homestead

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

An Attempt

Dear Sirs and Madams,

The following document is an actual account from my youth. I will be retelling the event in mock Victorian prose. I currently have no actual historical basis for my verse, excepting the fact that I have a literary love affair with one, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

During my years in school, I was an innocent and a young man, who shall remain nameless to protect his reputation, and mine, had been courting me. We had come into acquaintance while participating in the sport of track and field.

Our courtship consisted of covertly holding hands on the bus rides to and from the meets and frequent visits to the local theater. This young man was of the working class and employed at a sandwich bistro.

After one such date - time has dimmed my recollection - him and I were making an effort at polite conversation after he had returned me safely home to my parent's residence.

And then I shudder to think what happened next. He tried to take advantage of me and the situation. I called my faculties to the present and - in a very unladylike manner - restrained his attempt by firmly placing my hands on either side of his head and forcing it backwards. He plainly did not receive the message I was sending and attempted another kiss. I can not recall the conversation that took place afterwards, although one may assume that is was awkward at best.

When he next requested an outing, I politely declined and ended the courtship. My parents, I am sure, were thankful for he did not have a large estate nor a large fortune.

Happily married to my first kiss,

Katie

3 comments:

  1. Wow!! That is impressive! I didn't realize that Bryce was your first kiss-- are you his too?

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  2. hee, hee....love that I was able to hear that story shortly after the event...way to hold on to your virue madame!

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  3. No way, he was your first kiss?? Cool. I think my first kiss lives an alternative lifestyle now, so its a good thing we aren't together, it might be a little awkward.

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