We gathered in the parking lot of Food Land. Kathryn and I began
I first saw him from behind. I could already tell he was attractive.
And okay, so maybe this whole time I had been talking in a British accent.
But he heard my accent and was drawn to me and we soon began chatting. I guess I did those accents because I always felt like a siren, luring men in and entrancing their uneducated(on geography and accents) minds. Men I wouldn't have normally been able to capture. I figure the people who would call those of us who did accents "weird" were really just jealous that they couldn't do them. I never did them with people I knew I'd be around a lot. Just on random nights and shopping trips and days in amusement parks. Right?
In my defense, I asked him what his name was. But he wouldn't tell me. He said he would only tell me if I told him where I was really from. Problem was I had been telling the truth about that. "Boise Idaho" I kept saying, and everyone would laugh. (I never felt guilty enough to NOT use my accents but just guilty enough to NOT blatantly lie.) These two guys showed up and started freaking out, "We served our missions in London England! We KNOW you are from there! What part of the city?! No wait, I bet I can guess what part..." While I was flattered I figured this had gone on long enough. So I drop the accent completely and said, "I am from Boise Idaho."
Pause.
"THAT'S THE FAKEST AMERICAN ACCENT I'VE EVER HEARD!" shouts one of the returned missionaries.
Really, if you were me, you would have also given up and continued on with your brilliant accent, right?
After the RM's shouted some British swear words to see if I would react, (good heavens!) everyone was finally there and we piled into cars. I ended up in a car with no-name boy. We were still flirting.
And somehow the car Kathryn and I ended up in was the car full of boys that decided they didn't want to go camping anymore, but instead they wanted to stop at some random bon fire on the beach. We had no choice. The bon fire was up on a small hill and I asked who wanted to go with me down to the ocean. The only volunteer was him. (So basically, Kathryn, this was all your fault.)
At this point in my 20 year old life I had only kissed 2 boys. I guess you could call me a little naive. So as boy and I walked down the dark beach, further and further from the bon fire, I didn't fully realize that I had somehow agreed to what was next.
He stopped me. Got real close, put his face an inch from mine and said, "Are you going to tell me where you're really from?"
A little panicked now I said, "Are you going to tell me your name?!"
And with that he went in for the kill.
And kissed me.
Dang that British accent.
We ended up watching a movie at someone's house with a huge group of people. Kathryn and I left and went back to our dorms. And I never did find out his name. And thankfully he left soon after to go home from his vacation.
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Now, now Mom and Dad and grandparents, I know this is a bit crazy. But I figured since it's been 6 years and I'm clearly not crazy (like that) anymore that I could tell the story. Obviously it's bad going around and kissing boys whom you don't know the names of. Honestly though? I don't regret it now looking back. It's just silly and I learned a good lesson from it (to watch out for the power of accents) (and to learn the names of those I kiss.) (and I know Dad, that I should have only kissed boys I was dating, or better yet, I should have just waited for Buck, right? ;) ) But life is crazy. Although, I might wait until June is married to tell her this story one day...Sadly my accents have been shelved for a long time now. Sometimes I remember them and take them down, dust them off, and act crazy for June. (she especially seems to like my stew-pot Eastern European one best.) But it's fun to look back.




















































