Confessions of a "Sweet" 19-Year-Old

(Originally posted on sixmilevillage.com 2/9/04)

Lately, as I go about town in my regular errands and everyday disturbances, my annoyance grows higher and higher. There are pink and red hearts everywhere. There are commercials on T.V. for diamonds and candies and, “Hey, why not buy your sweetheart everything in our electronics department, she’ll love it, or you get a 2% refund.” Bleck.
You would think that as a nineteen-year-old girl, I would be excited about the week of Valentine’s Day. But I’m not. I used to be.

Every year I had some fantasy about some knight in shining armor on a pretty black horse riding into the school and sweeping me up into his arms, and we would ride away to Scotland where he had a fabulous castle--with major technological advancements, of course.

As the years passed, he became a rich performing artist; then a handsome and mysterious semi-famous author; then the captain of the football team; then the star of the school play; then the computer geek who helped me with my homework. Each year as Valentine’s Day passed, I was still, as ever, alone.

And this was not only tradition on Valentine’s day, but on Christmas, Easter, the 4th of July, St. Patrick’s Day, Halloween; okay, so every day of every year of my life.

I’m confessing: I have never been kissed. And every time the “First Kiss” conversation comes up, I just sit there quietly. What am I supposed to say? Finally it comes around to me, and I say, “Well, there isn’t anything for me to tell in this department…”

As the term “Virgin Lips” or “VL” (dumbest phrase of all time) circles slowly around the table, I sit there, as bored as ever. “REALLY?” every one says, less a question than a statement of shock and astonishment. “Really.” I reply.
They look at me as if I am Rachel, the Goddess of Self Control. Really I’m Rachel, Goddess of the Lonely of Heart.