If You Really Like a Guy, Hit Him

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If You Really Like a Guy, Hit Him I don’t remember wanting to punch Jeff. I remember wanting Jeff to “ask me out.” How I got into the position of hitting him is somewhat of a mystery to me. Jeff Stanford was the cutest guy in our third grade class. He had blonde hair, blue eyes-the whole shabang! He even wore tapered, stone washed jeans (it was the eighties, this was cool). He was my friend. I was, of all things, a tomboy. I ran faster then the boys. I could beat them all at tether ball. My hair was shorter then any of the boys, and I had the biggest crush on Jeff. Along with being head over heels in love with Jeff, I was a die hard Madonna fan. I had her tapes and even a sweatshirt with her picture on it. Jeff was not a Madonna fan. I thought this was something we could work out. Although we could not spend endless hours reciting lines from “Like a Virgin” together, we could always play tetherball. Tethe ball, at least at Pearson Elementary, was the game of champions. I loved to play, but at early recess the balls weren’t always up yet and Jeff, Kelly and myself sometimes had to make do with a rousing game of tag. This was definitely a “tag day.” “RUUUUUUUN Kelly, he is right behind you!!!!!” “Huh?” questioned Kelly. “Tagged you, tagged you!” taunted Jeff. “Ouch,” I screamed. “I have something in my eye.” I was completely serious. “There is something in my eye and it hurts!” I kept trying to get, whatever it was, out of my eye using the sleeve of my Madonna sweatshirt. Jeff was trying to help, in some way, but doing a piss-poor job of it. “ What happened?” he asked. “Did Madonna stick her arm out and poke you in the eye?!!! Hahahahaaaahaaaha!” Boys are so dumb. “No.” It was all I could say, I didn’t have any witty come backs, but come on, he could have left me alone! “Why are you picking on me?” I asked. I wished he would just leave, but no, he kept taunting me. “You are so mean! LEAVE!” I shouted. For some unknown reason he didn’t get it! My eye still hurt, recess was almost over, and I decided I hated Jeff... WHAAAAP!!!!!!! I socked him. A right fisted jab, straight up the gut, full third grade force, and Jeff Stanford, my crush, went down.

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