On occasion, I am gullible to the point of stupidity.
You could tell me California has finally fallen into the ocean. You could tell me your arm (yes, the one you're wearing now) is actually synthetic, replaced after the old one was eaten by wolves. You could tell me your mom is actually an elephant goddess, revered in Hinduism by thousands of followers. So long as you said it with a straight face and a sense of urgency, I would totally buy it.
(By the way, that's not a "your mama's so fat" joke. At least, I didn't mean it to be, but now I can't look at it any other way. So... sorry to your mama. Whoops.)
So anyway. That ridiculous gullibility carries over to sarcasm and hyperbole on occasion. That being the case, when my mom told me (at about age 10), "No dating till you're 16," I fully believed that that was the set-in-stone rule and nothing would ever change it, and if she ever found out I was dating someone before then I would be in big trouble, young lady.
Therefore, when I had a "boyfriend" in sixth grade, I made sure to keep it secret (keep it safe), and didn't tell Mom about it until I was 18 or so. But here's how it went down.
I started sixth grade very terrified of all the scary new people and things around me. Math was terrifying. The popular kids were terrifying. The lunch room was terrifying, as is the case when you don't know anyone and have to sit somewhere. But I was able to quickly befriend some older kids - seventh graders who also liked Star Wars and were nice enough to let me in their circle.
Sarah was the closest of that bunch, and we're still friends now, too. But one of the others in that group was Dillon. *swoon*
Dillon was blonde, befreckled, and funny, and a nice guy, too. Much later in the school year, I was eating with another group of friends, and one of Dillon's guy friends came over to me.
"Dillon wants to know if you'll go out with him," he said.
I blinked, a bit shocked, sandwich halfway to my mouth. I probably looked like some kind of very unattractive fish, with my mouth hanging open and a blank stare. I could feel my friends gazing at me, collectively holding their breath.
It didn't take me too long to respond, "Tell him to come ask me himself."
The lackey went away. All my girlfriends were like oh my GAWD he asked you out kind of!
And here came Dillon, all will-you-be-my-girlfriend and I was all yes-I-will and one friend was all this-calls-for-a-Fruit-Roll-Up.
I'm serious. That was how we celebrated.
Then I realized Dillon had walked back to his table and I thought I should probably be eating with him, since he was my boyfriend and all. So I did.
Over the course of the next year, he gave me two necklaces. He carefully set them on my chair at lunchtime, and I gave him a hug for each one, and possibly a kiss on the cheek. I got the vibe that he definitely wanted a real kiss for the gold one with my name on it, but I was so not having my first kiss in the cafeteria in front of his friends. So I didn't.
In fact, I never did kiss him. We just hugged, and never even hung out aside from lunchtime. After all, it was sixth grade.
I carefully put the necklaces on at school and took them off before coming home, so that Mom wouldn't ask where they were from and freak out over me having a boyfriend. He called only once over the summer - I think Mom intimidated him (mob-style) into never calling me again.
The following school year, one of his friends came over to my lunch table. A different one than before, I think.
"Hey, Dillon doesn't want to go out with you anymore," he said. And walked away.
I rolled my eyes and waltzed over to his table. He looked up at me like a lab rat about to be dissected.
"Come here," I motioned at him, wanting to talk to him privately.
He shook his head rapidly, big eyes staring up at me.
I sighed. "Well, I just want you to know I'm okay with it, okay?"
He nodded furiously. I walked away.
And that was my first "boyfriend."