Butterflies.

Five years ago today, I felt real butterflies in my stomach for the first time.

After a bizarre twist of fate, I had finally met a certain gorgeous boy two nights earlier. The first time we'd gone out went fairly smoothly; we grabbed dinner, chatted, saw a movie, chatted some more. I was completely smitten.

Yet a few days later there I was, feeling as though I was in a bit of a conundrum; just because I'd had a great time and had spent countless moments replaying it over and over in my head, didn't mean that he felt the same way. I was worried. What if he didn't enjoy himself? Would he be interested in me at all? And what if he wasn't? It would be a shame, because he was so cute. And he wore nice shoes. What to do? Argh. Needless to say, I was full of nervous anticipation.

It is with fondness that I look back on those moments of confusion, giddiness and pure hope. The feeling that maybe, just maybe I had met that someone special was exhilerating, exciting and a little scary. I don't think I've ever wanted something quite so badly before, as I did at this very point in time, five years ago. What did I want? I wanted the highly important second date, of course.

To be continued . . .