On the way back from Auburn this morning (let's not talk about how terrible we are and how I left the game earlier than I have ever left an AU game in my life), I made my friend Mary Grace listen to it.
She said, "Well that was jolly".
The word 'jolly' made me think of a family I met at church camp a few years ago whose last name was Jolly.
And then I remembered the following short story:
I was in third grade and at camp for the first time in my life. While I was there, I met a new friend whose name was Abby, and we hung out together for the majority of the week. Near the end, Abby told me that her friend Trevor (Trevor Jolly) thought I was cute and she wanted to introduce us. And I agreed.
"Amy, this is Trevor."
"Trevor, this is Amy."
And instead of being normal, my anxiety of meeting a boy who thought I was cute turned me into the world's biggest dork. My way of saying hello to him was to raise my right hand up in the air and say "How" ... like a Native American. I looked like I was reciting the official oath to become the next Native American President of the United States.
I don't think I ever talked to that boy again. And Abby and I lost touch over the years.
But the point is ... I'm 24 years old now, and I still have have moments where I have to fight over butterflies. I don't think we ever grow out of getting anxiously excited or happily stressed out over little fun things between men and woman. Or at least I hope we don't. How boring would a marriage be if you lost your little heart flicker for your mate? The most boring. I love a good heart flicker.
Anyway, fun lazy Sunday afternoon story for you.
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