Once in Love with Amy

I was once in love with Amy. Smitten. Bewitched. It happened at a wedding. She was the photographer. She took a photo of me looking at her with my eyes dazzled by her. I met her later at a Mexican food restaurant and discovered I was no longer in love with her. Damn.

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

2 thoughts on “Once in Love with Amy”

  1. “It’s true I was once in love with Amy,” he said, “but I promise you I’m not anymore.”

    “I believe you,” I smiled. But of course I don’t believe any such thing. It’s not that I don’t trust you, you see, it’s that I know better than to trust Amy. I see her with her short skirts and her top-right tops, flouncing around like she doesn’t know you’re watching her. She knows, she knows every man is watching her. Sure she dumped you five years ago, but she likes knowing she could still have you (whether she actually wants you or no). She’ll have you (if she has you) to get me, to show me she can have my man.

  2. Being a reality freak, I’ll tell you now, I was never “once – or more -in love with Amy”. Doris Herman (the girl with the kind of pig tails I admired) and Albert Schwartz (the fellow who devised a plan for the “smart kids” to keep their honored positions in our 6th grade classroom): these two I was once in love with. We were fellow conspiritors. “Smart kids” sat one behind another in the same row. During math tests the first one finished passed his or her paper back for editing or a second paasage. We almost always got perfect scores. What’s not to love?

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