There are those who yearn for youth and pine forgotten tatters of memory, yet I would not choose to relive the pangs of childhood and relearn the expectations of society. I recall too well the ill-chosen words which sprang from my tongue, the unintended regrets which stemmed from an unimpeded glance or action, and the troublesome problems whose solutions, though somehow problems in themselves, would have been solved likewise had the identical factors been presented a second time. With regret I remember instances which haunt my recollections, though long passed; there was a boy in church who nervously asked if I would be "his girl"...and through my pitiful degree of shyness, never gave a reply; and the homecoming dance, my first and only formal function, in which I was so utterly nerve-stricken that I was unable to pin the boutonniere on my date, to eat my dinner, to speak cordially on even the most trivial and insignificant subjects. I remember the disappointment which accompanied my first attempt to secure a "date." Oct. 27, 1977... I want to ask Scott to go on the hayrack ride. Everyone is really pressuring me. Oct. 28, 1977... I asked Scott today...I followed him to his locker and asked. He said that he was having one on the same night and he'd let me know. Oh, I sure hope he comes. Oct. 30, 1977... Hayrack was tonight, but I didn't go. Scott never even called. Filtering through my memories are also the times in which I was asked on a date and for reasons of my own, chose to refuse the invitation. I tried to say "no" without hurting, for I knew how difficult it was to pose such questions, and the way in which a reply was given could either demean, depress, or simply disappoint. Being asked on a date is a compliment, no matter how distastefully one might view his "suitor." My dating career was short-lived, as I began to view romance in a highly cynical manner, having found little in the way of true happiness while "playing the field." I had difficulty enough when I dated one person at a time. Moreover, I was unable to bear the pretense which accompanied romance; I had little of the "romantic" in my personality, and if I played a farce, I knew it would reveal itself in time. It would be more appropriate, I resolved, to always be myself and thereby avoid a later explanation of my mistaken identity. With my indifference toward romance came an amplified emphasis on friendship, for it alone seemed real. Platonic relationships had no intrinsic pressures or expectations such as the obligatory kiss after a "date"; a touch, if given at all, was supportive, not demanding.