Having been recently informed by a woman how I was not, in her view, her ex-boyfriend—and who can blame a girl for trying to lawyer her way out of that indignity?—I got to thinking about the qualifications for the designation. How many meals must a guy purchase to make bar? How many months of morning I love yous must be uttered out of the sides of mouths? How many new tampons must be fetched and passed through the two-inch crack of the bathroom door?
Then it hit me. The woman who for years I called "my first girlfriend" has, at some time or another, taken a demotion herself. She was my summer romance when I was 14. As I grew older and relationship debris accumulated in my wake, her status diminished, and until this weekend she was almost completely forgotten. A pretty amazing fall for someone who was once the whole universe to me.
The last time I looked up an old love interest didn't go so well, so it was with some trepidation that I looked up Elise (pronounced Alisha). She is two years older than me, which to a 14 year old boy is pretty much the Holy Grail but which now, curiously, holds no allure for me whatsoever. All I had to go on is her long-memorized childhood name and address. Unfortunately, the address is in Holland, which makes surfing many orders of magnitude harder.
I found her within 10 minutes. God bless the Internet.
I officially reclaim her as my first girlfriend. Since we last smooched in the pool, Elise has gone on to become an attorney who specializes in children's rights. Good for her. Great for me. I want this on my romantic resume. I need this on my romantic resume. "I only date wholly selfless human beings, altruistic types whose sole priority is to give back to the community," I'll sniff. "For instance, an utterly random sampling of ex-girlfriends now work as a physical therapist, a nurse, and an attorney crusading for children's rights." I badly needed a third thing for that list. This is perfect.
But the ex who now manages a sports bar? She's my secret favorite.