I’ve come to the conclusion that there are some significant steps in a person’s life that need to be recognized and brought to

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are some significant steps in a person’s life that need to be recognized and brought to the forefront. Not because they’re really that big of a deal, well, maybe they are when you first approach that milestone. Maybe what makes it a milestone isn’t what actually happens, but the little something you learn about yourself and overcome to pass that point in your life.

Your first day of school, standing out at the end of the driveway with your mother and/or father dressed in your Sunday best. Hand clenched tightly on a Transformers lunchbox and red backpack stuffed full with your favourite teddy bear, in case it gets too scary and you need his support or always listening ear. That big, yellow bus rolls up the road looking like a demonic monster that wants to eat you and take you to a place where you’ll never see your parents or home again.

But it comes to a stop and the doors open, the bus driver smiling down on you like a Wal-Mart greeter and tempting you into his clutches worse than Mr. Dressup with cookies. It looks like a good idea, and you still have doubts, but then your mom or dad gives you a kiss on the cheek and tells you how proud they are. Fear takes a backseat and you swallow it like Dagwood swallows his sandwiches, taking that first big step into a whole new world.

Jasmine from Aladdin has nothing on that. She took a Magic Carpet ride; you’re going to your death on a yellow prison of doom.

After that, the milestones pile up so high that soon you forget about them. Your first day of high school, your first summer job; the first day of college. Sure, those seem like pretty similar examples but there are other ones as well.

You meet a boy, your first boy, and you get all stuffed up with the warm fuzzies; for surely, it could be nothing more than love. Then said boy, turns out to be a jerk in Knight’s clothing and your tender heart is broken. Tears fall freely and for a week, all you can talk about with anyone who’ll listen is him. The things he did, the things he didn’t do, and eventually what you’d like to do to him. Be it, kick him in the balls or beg for his reconsideration to take you back.

Just thinking about it makes me gain weight from all the Ben and Jerry’s consumed in the process. Tasty, but not good for your hips or butt. And we all have good intentions of getting “light” Ben and Jerry, but we all know that when push comes to shove, we want all the calories that we can gather. As if somehow letting ourselves go will show that rat bastard what he lost.

You go girl.

But eventually, the sadness melts away as does Ben and Jerry and we move on. We meet the next boy and somehow put behind the heartbreak and fear received from the last one to give the second one a chance. Yay for us! Sometimes it works; sometimes you go back up and repeat the aforementioned dance with Ben and Jerry. Let’s say it does work and he turns out to be your Knight in shinning armour. The man you’ve been dreaming about since you were old enough to realize boys held more than the power of the cootie.

That’s right, ladies, I’m talking the “L” word and not that program on Showcase late at night.

That strange and unusual force that a man holds to draw you into his web. The strength that one embrace can give, the support of one smile, and the joy of one gentle touch. Those idiotic things they have no clue they do that make us melt like a snow cone in Mexico. The twinkle in their eye as they shoot you a private look, a mysterious joke that only you and him share. Or the tilt of their mouth when they realize you’re only joking and it seems to be lost on them; that’s the last time you make a sports joke when you have no clue what you’re talking about.

They tolerate your total domination of the bathroom the same way you tolerate their total domination of the TV remote. It may not be world domination but when your world consists of a five bedroom house that you’re cohabitating in, then you take what territory you can hold and don’t complain too much. Don’t draw to much attention to the territories you hold or it could lead to invasion and eventually, world war three. Only on a slightly smaller scale and with less CNN coverage.

Memo to self: War analogies aren’t funny…anymore…

And then those little words come that make your life turn upside down and bring up the biggest milestone of your life; unless of course, you’re a celebrity. You know the ones, “Will you marry me?”

It’s enough to bring the biggest shiver of fear down any girl’s spine, no matter how rigid. Because once those four little words are uttered it opens the memory vault and every single bad relationship you’ve ever had comes flooding back to the surface like an erupting volcano.

You start to worry, to think about if he’s THE ONE and you’re not making a big mistake that two to five years down the road will see you both in divorce court fighting over the car and frequent flyer miles. Who’s going to take Great Aunt Vickie’s family china and if you should just sell the house or cut it in half with a big chainsaw?

Most women just blurt the answer before these fears have a chance to make them run, crying and screaming from the room with cries of “Why me, dating Gods? WHY!” and get past the initial shock quickly. Others ponder on it for months and eventually get the courage to bring up their fears, only to have them quickly dashed by, “Baby, you can have the remote tonight”.

And maybe, in some bizarre land where reality doesn’t exist, there are the women who scream and jump for joy at finally landing themselves a keeper. Take his picture, get him stuffed, and mount him on your wall girls. That’s a tall fish story you’re gonna need proof to tell.

Pardon my cynicism, I’m merely joking. I know that there are some things in this world that are meant to be like, Ben and Jerry for instance. But then, I know deep down that the women who spout drivel about knowing from the moment they met are full of something other than life. It’s called shit. Yes, that’s right, I said shit. They’ve been eating shitburgers and telling everyone who’ll listen that it’s steak.

Everybody has those fears, maybe not as drastic as the ones I’ve mentioned but it has to happen. And I know that I might have mentioned before that I wasn’t up for another round of, Life sucks so try again, but unfortunately I’m one of those people who have no luck. So let me clear my throat and make a declaration for all to hear.

I, Sandra Jamieson, love to entertain the masses with my personal anguish and torture. My stupidity knows no bounds and karma still hates me more than ever. I had said that I was never doing this again but apparently along with cursed, dramatic, and shunned I’ve also added LIAR to the list. How I wish the list would stop growing.

Let me paint a poetic picture so that everyone can get in the mood and settle in with a cup of hot chocolate, bucket of popcorn or pint of Ben and Jerry.

Main character: myself, James.

Scene: The day before my cousin’s wedding.

Back-story: Girl of uncanny imagination meets man of her dreams and worries that relationship isn’t on track after three years of bliss. In layman’s terms: Shit hits fan in big way.

Antagonist: Huh?

Time: Now.

WARNING: This story may contain scenes of nudity, coarse language, sexual content, and adult themes, whichever mood I happen to be in at the time. Viewer discretion is advised.