Signed, Sealed, and Delivered... to the Wrong Person

Have you ever known someone who just seems to self-sabotage everything they attempt? Well... I have been known to be a little bit like that. See? I'm a natural "helper." I love helping people with their problems and their goals. It's one of my traits I'm most grateful for, most of the time, until the guy I had a huge crush on came to one afternoon asking me to help him write a "love letter."

Being the nice person that I am, I agreed, so during 7th period English we sat down to write this beautiful outpouring of love to a girl whose name we were not sure of, but knew that she was really tan with, short, shoulder length, dark brown (almost black) hair. Note: At the time we were in 7th grade and my friend rode the bus with this girl. That's where he fell in love with her. On the bus. The fact that he'd never actually spoken to her was irrelevant.

So, we sat down and wrote this letter and let me just say... based upon the limited information available it was pretty darn good. Yes... I was a genius even then. Just kidding about the genius thing, but the letter really was good.

As good as the letter was, we still had a problem. Two problems, actually. The first problem was that there was a girl named Audrey that had a crush on my friend (a real 7th grade Casanova, this guy), but he didn't return the feelings at all. She was on the track team with him and even though he didn't like her back, he really didn't want her to get upset with him about writing a love letter to this new girl. I'm not sure how he planned to avoid this once he wooed his new beloved. The second problem involved the fact that, because he'd never spoken to this new object of interest, he didn't know what name to write on the outside of the letter (folded in that awesome way we did it 7th grade with the little tab you pulled to open it). As the resident problem solver, I decided to do a little research. I convinced Casanova to hold off for a day while I figured out who his beloved was. After some snooping around, I was sure I'd found her: Her name was Adrianna. So, we addressed the note to her the next afternoon. He assured me that he could get the note to her -and I trusted him with it. My work was done. I'd helped the guy I liked score a new girlfriend. Joy.

Despite my slight sadness over the situation, the next morning I was anxious to see how things turned out. I knew in my heart that it had gone well. Letters like that are foolproof. Nevertheless, I ran up to him at the lockers and asked him how things went. I'll never forget his response.

He slowly turned around and looked down at me with the most dejected expression I'd ever seen and replied, "Not good."

Now, a normal girl might have been happy about her crush not getting his girl. Right? Not me. There was no way my letter had failed. No. Way. Not. Possible. "Well, why not? What happened?"

"Guess who got the letter?"

"Who?"

"Audrey..."

"What?!" I knew I shouldn't have left the delivery to him. Men are simply incapable...

"There is no Adrianna."

Come again? "Huh?"

"There is no Adrianna, Ash. I don't know who you thought she was, but she's not Adrianna."

"So... I guess we're back to the drawing board?"

I'll never forget what happened after that. Casanova just sighed, shook his head, and replied, "Nah. I'm good. I'll just find someone else, I guess."

Seriously? After all we've been through? I guess all love really is fleeting...

In case you're wondering, neither me, Audrey, or the bus beloved (whose name we found out is "Abby"), ever dated Casanova and I still self-sabotage on a regular basis. I'm just too nice. End of story.