Doodled Her Way Into My Heart

If you’re anything like me, you hated Jr High! Where I grew up, we called it Middle School and it was the place that imprisoned 6th, 7th, and 8th grade students from September to May. It was the most awful 3 years of my life! I was a scrawny kid who could have been best described as a rib cage and a pair of high tops. My body was all lanky, awkward, and uncoordinated. I often tripped over my own clumsy feet and as a result my shins were camouflaged in lovely shades of blue, green, and yellowish-brown bruises. But nobody was looking at my legs when I had a mouthful of metal and anywhere from 1-3 new pimples appearing on my face on a daily basis! My voice was cracking. I was growing hair in funny places. And my armpits began to sweat profusely. I was a hot mess, but only "hot" in the sweaty sense. So basically I was just a mess. Oh and I can't forget the completely unwarranted and unwanted, random boners that popped up at the most inappropriate times ever...like during the Presidential Physical Fitness Award pull-up test in gym. Honestly, I think I would have rather farted on my gym partners hands who held my feet during sit-ups than manufactured wood while hanging ten for all my peers to bear witness. Prepubescent years are the worst!

Doodle heavily cropped to protect the innocent, or rather guilty.
Gotta love the doggie style pornimation (porn + animation).

I tried my hardest to fit in even though I had no idea where I was best suited. I hid my true interests/hobbies because skateboarding and being able to relate to skate rats wasn’t deemed "cool" at my school. So I wore a mask and I wore it well. I pretended I was someone I truly wasn’t and playfully laughed along with anyone who made fun of me. This earned me an invite to join the safety of the "cool kids table" at lunch where I began to identify myself as part of their clique. Yes, this social misfit learned to blend right in...or at least blend in enough to squeak by those 3 long, torturous years I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy to repeat. Despite how awful Middle School was for me and what a dark image I just painted, there was one small ray of sunshine in my day. I don't remember her name, but she sat infront of me in Algebra class and turned around to doodled on my Five Star Notebook. (swoon 5x)

Even though time moves on, some things never change. I still love the handwritten letter and I still love the homegrown doodle. I'm not childish, but I am childlike. So any girl that can return to her Middle School self, showing me she has a fun and playful side in a 20-something body, will have my eyes looking up from my Algebra book...and in a board meeting.

I love the innocence and simplicity of a budding romance. Free of complications. Free of conflict. Free of drama. Free of injury and pain. It's just, well free. And it feels sooo good! Sooo right! Sometimes I question whether falling in love is better than an orgasm. I think it just may be.

It's so fresh, new, and shiny...like the plastic cover of my red Five Star Notebook. So you would think I wouldn't want anyone to doodle on it, but you're wrong! In fact, I want her inscriptions. She marks the paper unaware it's leaving marks on my heart. I'm not going to lie, it caused some fluttering to occur. I have a reputation that proceeds me and an image to uphold here. I'm a guy who is Perfectly Lonely and in the midst of a Manwhore Relapse. I've asked her before to stop being so effing cute! But she continues on, slowly doodling her way into my heart, one sketch at a time.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a doodler. And she gives good doodle.

***NOTE***
Due to some reader confusion in this post, I should point out that the doodle photographed here isn’t saved from my Middle School crush. This is from a modern day doodler. A 20-something girl who is wooing me with her scribbly scratch.