Aside from Anderson Cooper, I try not to like men who exceed the age of 35. It just seems a bit old, but in the case of Mr. Ronald’s very cute receding hairline, I made an exception. He was the brand new and cute theatre teacher my senior year, and as the year opened, I needed to fill my second period with an elective. Obviously, I chose his class, which seemed to also be a breeze in the beginner level. (Easy on the eyes and easy on the books is always a good choice.)
It didn’t take long before I was gossiping with the other girls in the class about how cute Mr. Ronald was. He was married to one of his previous students who was only about five or six years older than we were. So what actually was/is impossible seemed somewhat possible at 18.
He mentioned in class one day while we were doing independent studies that his wife loved Ingrid Michaelson. This prompted a logical response from my friend that went a little something like this:
You love your wife. Your wife loves Ingrid. Laurie loves Ingrid. Therefore you logically love Laurie, too.
This comment was made out loud for everyone to hear. My response was an immediate quick and hard slap to her stomach. On the outside I was mainly mortified, but on the inside I was dying with happiness hoping the illogical logic could actually be true!
Nothing ever happened between me and Mr. Ronald (sadly, but obviously), so there is no need to alert the media. I saw him later after graduation and couldn’t remember why I thought he was such a fine symbol of theatre.
Mr. Ronald was the last teacher I have liked in my repertoire of crushes since age six, but who knows if there will be another teacher along the way in my search for my NJB.
I will never forget the day you told me about that illogical chain of love. Your eyes closed as a huge crinkley smile enveloped your face and you said, "it made me incredibly happy!" And, even though I knew it was a momentary school girl crush, I was incredibly happy because you were so happy.
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