There has always been a soft spot in my heart for the females. Ever since I was a young lad climbing around on the schoolyard jungle gym, I naturally gravitated towards the cute girls. Something about their billowing summer dresses, their flowing hair, and their fruit-scented perfumes just hypnotized me. And the fact that they didn't like to root around in the mud burying half-chewed G.I. Joe action figures and fishing for earthworms only endeared these girls to me even more.



Unfortunately, all of my early attempts at wooing were shot down before they even had a chance to lift off. A nasty rumor was spread around Westwood Elementary that I had a sever dose of ultra-infectious cooties, and that tainted my reputation. Soon after the word was out, the girls I used to play handball with would run away screaming at the mere sight of me. It was bad. Worst of all, I was completely cootie-free at the time (that status would change after a blurry-eyed trip to Kuala Lumpur). I never found out for sure who made up that lie about me, but I have my suspicions. The two possible perpetrators were Doug ?the boner? Wisenkrass and April Lee. All through the fourth grade, Doug and I were locked in a feud because I cut in front of him in the milk line one day and snatched the last carton of chocolate. He was stuck with some crappy 2% and never forgave me. April, on the other hand, was an entirely different kind of situation. This girl had a crush on me from the first grade, and she was always trying to get my attention by leaving little presents on my desk. Sometimes it was a sheet of Keroppi stickers, and other times it was a new issue of Boys? Life. Since I was neither a scout nor a fan of Sanrio, so I just ignored her and hoped that she'd get the hint. Plus, she smelled like eggplant and tapioca, so I really tried to steer clear. After I started pelting her with rocks, she got the hint and stopped fawning. So she definitely had an ax to grind.

While my romancing started off rocky, it jumped into overdrive during high school. Some try to attribute it to my cerulean eyes and my baritone voice, but I think it was my ride, a cherry ?68 Z28. Every new term brought in a fresh crop of freshmen cuties who couldn't help but be reaped by each sweep of my V8 scythe. Fast driving will turn a girl soupy in seconds, but near-death experiences are a total turnoff. Over the years, I've lost a number of sure bets because of close calls in my Camaro. That's why I decided to upgrade with EBC brakes and brake pads. Now, my calipers have enough bite to keep me in complete control of the situation. Oh yeah.