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My son will be entering high school next year. It certainly has brought back some memories of my high school years. Not really inspiring ones, mind you, but they do make me laugh when I realize I was just a dorky chick who wasn't exactly a socialite. I loved my small group of friends, reading, writing and steering clear of the popular girls. It's just a blessed relief to see how unattractive these popular girls looked at the last reunion I went to.

I probably shouldn't even delve into those four years but then again, I have no problem revealing my shortcomings. Would I ever want to go back in time and change things? No. Making it through four years of high school and not getting shoved into a locker by the meanest girl in the school gave me kahunas to use in later life.

I was in 10th grade when I finally noticed that boys were sort of cute. Mostly they were cute because they were shorter than I was at that time. I never got any taller than that giant 53 skinny gal I was in my sophomore year, but the boys did. Everyone but George.

George was short. Really short. I heard that he never really grew more than 52 tall in his adult life. However, he was a drummer in the school band and had that rock and roll look that this nerdy, preppy young lady thought was simply groovy. Can I say "dreamy" and not sound like Marcia Brady?

Nancy was "dating" George. She was also a sophomore and kicked me every time she got on the bus on the way to school. I put my leg out every day to save her time. I wish I knew about shin guards back then. Not too sure why she kicked me so much but I think that it was a combination of her dislike that I always read a book on the school bus and the fact that she knew had eyes for her boy, George.

My competitive nature didn't kick in until I was well into my thirties, so I didn't intend to fight for George's attention. Nancy was already bruising my shin on a daily basis, so there was no reason for me to encourage her to start hurting my other limbs.

George talked to me in band class. I wanted to pee my pants every time he spoke to me. I'd go home and write his name in my diary with a big heart around it. Then I'd go and read some 500 page novel and forget about him until the next band class.

I told him that my favorite band was Boston. I didn't even know who they were (although they are one of my favorite classic rock bands today!) but I saw their name on his t-shirt. He perked up. The dork liked rock n roll? (No, George, the dork had been taking piano

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