Dear Jax,
Let me start by declaring (for probably the millionth time since that night a few weeks ago) that I still cannot believe you introduced me to your parents as your girlfriend!! Granted it was pretty funny and I may possibly have given you the idea, but I never planned to follow through with it! And then I was caught in the awful position of either confusing your parents by calling you out on your lie or lying right along with you to YOUR PARENTS! I'm sure they are still confused about the whole situation, considering how very eager they were to believe it. I just hope you don't ever tell them all the plans you've worked out for our future, such as the ones we discussed last night. You know, all the interracial babies we'll have some day. "Tomorrow people," as a character from one of my new favorite TV shows calls babies of mixed races: "Little People of Tomorrow." Although I'm somewhat amused at your suggestion of "fielding our own soccer team," I'm not sure I want to birth 11 children, much less raise that many. A basketball team is much more reasonable in that respect.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, though. Despite our brief, yet recurrent history, you and I would never work as a serious couple for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we are both far too flirtatious for our own well-beings. On the positive side, you proudly represent the West Coast, where I plan on establishing my home in the not-too-distant future, but that alone is quite obviously not enough. We do have some sort of weird chemistry that keeps our friendship fun and, well, flirty, but while that makes for great entertainment for all, sparks burn out quickly. I'm looking for a fire.
Still, I won't deny that your attention is flattering and sometimes downright embarrassing, with your over-the-top antics. I've lost count of the number of people you've introduced me to as your girlfriend or future wife, which now regrettably includes my mother, sister, and little brother, along with the recent addition of your parents! I'll even confess that I've occasionally wondered how much of it is still a joke and if I should be careful not to be too encouraging. That is, until I hear about all the girls you "hung out" with each weekend or watch you (usually doubled over with laughter) make advances on any girl that comes with hearing-distance of your cheesy lines, which is actually quite some distance unfortunately. I no longer fear the possibility of leading you on.
Ah, Jax, it's a shame that the world will never get to experience our adorable black/latino babies and that the USA will be shorted a much-needed superiorly-skilled soccer team, but I'm afraid we're just not meant to be. Tell ya what, though, and I'm only promising this to you with the hope that you will never get a glimpse of this letter, nor will any of my few readers ever hold me to this promise, but if we both waste our youth playing the ever-thrilling game of cat-and-mouse and both remain single and searching at the ripe old age of 42 (my lucky number), we can get married and adopt 11 interracial babies and raise them to love the best sport of all time.
22 years to go. Start counting.
~Steph
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