So, when I was 9-10 years old, I dated this girl. For the first time in my life, I dated a girl. She was cute and funny and easy-going, and I broke up with her a day or two after we got together.

Her brother was a friend of mine, and one day I was spending the night over at their place. I ended up in the couch with her and him, watching some science fiction movie on the T.V. which I commented on, making both of them giggle hysterically throughout the whole thing. I was definitely on a roll then, and didn’t really think much of it at the time. Go me. Or so.

The next day, I got a call from her, telling me she thought I was super-funny and she wanted to date me. “Surely,” I agreed, and thus it was as official as things get for a 9-10 year old. A foreboding fell over me like a dark cloud, and brooding I returned home that night, thinking about what this would mean.

The following day came and I and a few friends went to where she lived. But alas, she had done silly things that day so she was grounded. She waved at me from a window far up in the apartment complex where she lived, and the foreboding came over me again. “What if my friends find her ugly…?”

The day after, I called her up and broke up with her. I couldn’t stand the thought that people would talk about me behind my back about my supposedly-ugly girlfriend. Well done, I. Another proud memory to add to the ever-growing pile of prideness.

Later at school, a bunch of people asked me reverently about my cute, new girlfriend, and I mumbled something illegible and moved on. Turns out she wasn’t ugly at all. She was cute. But how was I to know? I mean, it’s not like I had eyes to see with or anything. Funny deal though, because this happened over 15 years ago and I still remember it clear as day. I remember the particulars about it, and I remember how confused a boy I was. My feelings about matters were dictated in full by my friends, not myself. I was a mindless wolf cub in a pack, but without the sharp teeth and claws and cool, glowing eyes.