"Hang him on a hook and let me play with him."

I remember when I developed my first infatuation with a boy, others may know this feeling as a mere crush; the feeling of the inexplicably hard-telling, gravity-defying, out-of-body lust, but I was six years old and the boy was Jack from Titanic. 

Prior to this realization I thought boys were smelly, cootie-infested germs polluting the Earth, but because my parents put little effort into movie censorship I witnessed hundreds of hypothermic deaths, Jack sketch a naked Rose, and a sweaty hand slide down the window of a steamy carriage car, my opinion changed at a very young age. From then on every boy I met was just another conquest on my seemingly lifelong journey to Leo's sweet embrace - well, more or less.

Throughout childhood my boy neighbor was my best friend. We challenged each other to sports, scared each other in ghost in the graveyard, and spent hours together on school projects. From bike rides to sleepovers, we were inseparable. I was always bummed when he couldn't play, and my father often caught him peeking in our windows to confirm I was not home. Besides growing up with two brothers, and then two additional step-brothers later on, I was always comfortable around boys. And boy, did I love them.

My mother has a contagiously flirtatious personality, she is young at heart, smiles with her eyes, and always adored my older brother's friends. The playful personality, Mrs. Robinson persona did not surpass my sister nor I; we often teased our older brother's friends and fought over who would marry who. We would be the cute little sisters greeting them at the front door or offering them a cold refreshment while they played video games.

Again, this was a learned behavior.

My middle child, second daughter syndrome and flirtatious demeanor was a brutal combination that left nothing but a craving for attention designed for one wickedly-wild child. I played the game well.

My older brother, Michael, had some pretty cute friends. Even though they preceded me by five or more years, it did not stop me from ranking their hotness in my Lisa Frank diary by sharpness of the jaw line or whose last name was the easiest to spell.

“Go back upstairs!” Michael would yell when he would see me peek around the corner of the basement stairs, spying on the boys with a sneaky grin on my face as they played video games or talked about other, less important girls from class.

“I just have to get my dress and heels!” And I would frantically race to the play-closet and put on a revealing princess dress and my 1-inch plastic dress-up heels and proceed to prance around the basement collecting my toys that were conveniently spread about. “Hi boys!” I would say, swinging around the basement’s support beam and click my heels around on the tiled floors. I logged who looked in said diary entries.

When I was seven I had a hard crush on one of Michael's best friends, we'll call him Doug because that's his name. I'm not sure if I liked him because my sister did and I am competitive, or if we both just had a similar type: Michael's friends. Nonetheless, I would make Doug fall in love with me one way or another. He was always very sweet to me, he laughed at my jokes and we liked the same gatorade flavor; a true match made in blue-raspberry heaven. 

I remember he came over to hangout with Michael; after bringing him a chilled glass of delectable blue drink and laughing at everything he said, I signed the cast on his broken arm with my very best seven year old chicken scratch and covered it in hearts. I believe I was fearless and forwardly wrote I <3 U, but I digress.

That summer, my family was on one of our infamous sailing adventures across Lake Michigan and we stopped in Frankfurt, MI, where Doug's family had a lake house. We were invited as their guests to a large bonfire party on the sandy dunes. I wore my cute-casual bonfire outfit: my dad's oversized sweatshirt that draped off of my shoulder, exposing my boney collar bone and toned deltoids - I used to do pull ups - and my floral jean skort exposing my tanned-twig legs, and of course I wore my heeled sandals to appear taller, older, and thus superior to any other seven year old girl that may be there.

Before we left, I propped up the port window of the bow of our boat and in the reflection I watched myself blush as I practiced how I would approach Doug. Hi *tuck my hair behind an ear* Hey Doug *suck in cheek bones and purse lips* or Oh, hi Doug, didn't know you'd be here *wink and toss hair*. 

When we arrived at the bonfire my jaw dropped in devastation. A random girl who I did not know had her arms wrapped around my Doug and they were giggling in disgusting flirtation. Unfortunately his arm had healed so his cast was gone, and so were my hearts. Smoke slowly poured out of my nostrils and my eyes grew red with fiery envy. I had been applying strawberry chapstick to my lips for days in preparation, I even avoided wearing my safety-jacket on our boat in order to have an even suntan. I was beside myself.

Then I grinned in anticipation. I am good at this game.

I stalked back and forth staring at them through the flames of the bonfire, trying to read their body language and figure out how I would approach them. Then I saw my answer twinkling at me like the Heart of the Ocean diamond. I took some deep breaths like I was about to dive into the freezing waters of the Atlantic and went over to talk to them.

I said hi to Doug, did a quick hair flip, and smiled at his little friend. My only solution to this terrific problem was to do what I do best: charm her with my enchanting brown eyes and dimples, and ultimately kill her with kindness. Or, I could pull a Cal from Titanic and destroy her. I chose the latter, and after a few compliments about her shiny hair and how cool she was for not having food in her braces I said, "What's that over there?" and they both looked to where I pointed and just as sly as Cal dumped the Heart of the Ocean necklace into Jack's pocket, I scooped a giant handful of sand straight into her can of pop. 

They left a few minutes later to go with the older kids down to the beach, probably to skinny dip or light off fireworks or whatever teenagers did in the 90s. I stayed with the younger crowd and discussed the latest themes of Barney episodes; the thought of the other girl sucking down her sandy surprise made me smile inside. In my mind I had won a trivial pursuit and the feeling was more thrilling than the time I beat my photographic-memory of a cousin in a game of Husker Du. 

I stopped liking Doug shortly after that trip, when he'd come over I'd stay in my room. And he would make comments about being parched and having a random thirst for gatorade. 

What I gathered from this mess is to not have expectations because you set yourself up for plummeting disappointment and self-doubt. Live and let die; a lesson I learned at age seven.

I'd like to say I ceased playing evil tricks and mind games, but people do not tend to change that much.

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