The Boy is Mine

I told a super old story last night at dinner with a friend. As I was telling it, I deemed it good enough to be blog material… because there are some things you just can’t make up. It goes like this:

I was pretty cool in elementary school. I hung out with the popular kids, we had a seats in the back of the class, and I had a boyfriend.

His name was Scott Wallet and he went on to go to Julliard and now he’s married. I hope he’s not reading. So, our “group” was made up of three couples: Emily and Patrick, and Nikki and Derek, and Scott and me. We, obviously, knew we were the it thing, so in art class during the pottery section we etched the same thing on the bottom of our little pots.

                                                M – Mollie

                                                E – Emily

                                                N – Nikki

We were the “men.” Nothing like a little shot to our 10 year old boyfriends’ ego. They did perform Backstreets Boys “As long as you love me” to us in the talent show, and it was glorious.

Anyway, so apparently I missed the memo when I moved in that a girl had already claimed Scott Wallet.

My 5^th grade self didn’t care. I let her be on the same soccer team as him during recess. She didn’t realize I would guard him and get to be by him the entire time. She wasn’t in our home room, so she didn’t get to sit beside him in the back of the class. She wasn’t in our group, so she didn’t get the invite to hang out on weekends.

She did, however, get the invite to a mutual friend’s birthday party. What happened next?

We threw down an epic, pitch perfect style karaoke battle to “The Boy is Mine.”

I wish there was Instagram to capture it.

And then in middle school we became best friends, and I was the maid of honor in her wedding. True Story. Happy Friday friends.