All kids were asked to wear their "sunday best". Some boys showed up in suits and ties {at ten years old!}, others wore sweaters and oxfords, and some even wore bolo ties {this is Providence, Utah, remember}. The girls wore pretty dresses, usually their Easter dresses, and sometimes they'd even wear little white gloves. Their hair would be curled and everyone was very polite to match their polite clothes.
Depending on what grade and class you were in, the librarian would invite you into the library for punch and cookies and this is where things got serious. This is where we learned the uncomfortable sensation, as nine year old girls, of having a boy pull out your chair and fetch your punch and cookies while you sat there feeling like a total weirdo.
The usual arrangement was that the girls would line up on one side of the room and the boys on the other. Then the first boy and the first girl would be designated as "dates", the second boy with the second girl, etc. Once we discovered our fate, we all shuffled around so we could be paired up with the boy or girl we had a secret or public crush on. This was the first time I felt rejection because I'd line myself up with Jim Crosbie or Mike White and then they'd go and line themselves up with someone else. First broken heart at nine, I suppose.
In highschool they upped the anti and let us buy roses for those we loved. I usually got a small bouquet of flowers {one from each of my darling girlfriends} while most of them would walk away with a few dozon, most of them from boys who skateboarded and wore Cure t-shirts. So cool.
Well, here I am, 18 years after highschool, sitting in my cubical at work looking at the pretty tulips and dreaming of my swedish massage {both from my HOT husband} and admiring a fabulous tampon purse, notebook and cute postcards from Amie. Could I be any luckier? I think this is my best Valentine's Day ever.
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