I’m not sure why this event popped into my head, but it did so I’m telling you the story. I looked the part of the stereotypical nerd back in the day. Not only did I wear glasses, but through some combination of misguided feminism, nerd pride, and nineties fashion, my seventeen-year-old self wore over-sized t-shirts which disguised any evidence of my voluptuous female form. My favourite read “I’m out of bed and dressed, what more do you want,” though I never really practiced what it preached and made the honour roll three years in a row.
There was an exchange trip that year for French Immersion students like me to go to Switzerland and stay with a fellow teenager and her family. Before we went, we filled out surveys meant to match us up with our Swiss doppelgangers. By some fluke of the system I was matched with a boy-crazy party girl who drank, smoked, and collected shoes.
On the night in question, Sandrina (my Swiss party girl), took me out to a club with some of her friends. I was wearing a white t-shirt with a Twister spinner on it. I remember she asked me if I wanted to change, but all I had were nerdy t-shirts and I didn’t want to wear any of Sandrina’s clothes, so I didn’t. We drank kamikaze shots early in the night, but I wasn’t drunk or even tipsy. In fact, I only had one. I wasn’t a drinker.
And then we were up and dancing. Rather than dance in a group of girls, as is the Canadian custom, we paired off with random guys on the dance floor. It happened very organically, so that suddenly I was dancing with a mildly cute black guy with an intense gaze. No one had ever looked at me like that before. For the first time in my teenage life, I felt like one of the girls. With a twinkle in his eyes, he held his hands in front of the cartoon hands of the twister spinner, stopping just short of touching my chest.
He took me by the hand and lead me off the dance floor, to a quieter area of the club. We chatted for a bit. He was a soccer player from Brazil (I think), who spoke English but no French at all. We didn’t talk long before he leaned over and kissed me. I was surprised when he slipped his tongue into my mouth, but when he pulled away I went back for seconds. No guy had ever even taken an interest, let alone made a move on me. It felt good. And I thought I did pretty well for a beginner.
He asked me if I wanted to go outside to his car. I definitely wasn’t ready for THAT and anyway I didn’t really know this guy, so I declined. At some point I showed off my French skills by asking the coat check girl for a pen and paper and he wrote down his address for me. He talked about coming to Canada sometime to visit.
When I got back to Sandrina’s house I tore up the address into tiny pieces and flushed it down her toilet. I wasn’t about to contact this guy! (Though now I kind of wish I’d kept the paper as a souvenir).