Loving in London... Ontario

Introduction

When I was a little girl, I had pictured my teen years to be magical, going out all the time, talking with friends, and living life to the fullest. Lets be honest now, who wasn't? Some girls even got what they pictured, a perfect boyfriend and designer brands wrapping their skin, and a strong social game.

However, other girls dreams didn't truly lay out as they planned. Some became anti-social, finding friends in odd ways. Of course they all had their one or two friends but their social standards were pretty low. They couldn't afford the high costing articles if clothing others had, nor did they have that perfect jock boyfriend every women dreamt of. The first example was not me, of course I fell more toward the awkward, anti-social girl who thought she had more to her life then Louis Vuitton bags and Gucci heels.

Continuing on, there was this fast food joint right down the street from my parents house. It was a two story little shack, with a blue exterior and a beautiful inside. The outside didn't do the place much justice. This restaurant had the best tacos a girl could ask for, the shells were perfectly crunchy with every bite, the smell was heavenly. Sometimes I would find myself just strolling by on my way to the book store, and destiny would call, dragging me in.

Over my teen years, I became quite friendly with the owners. So friendly they began to already have my order in the oven waiting for pick up. When I left for college things had changed. I moved far away from the comfort of my Jesus tacos to peruse bigger and what I thought at the time, better things. When everything around me crumbled I was forced to move back home with my drunk mother and lazy father. Don't get me wrong, when my mother was sober she was an incredible person. She was caring and loving, always had food on the table. It was when the devil took over, she changed for the worst.

She used to yell at my couch potato for a father, he wasn't literally a potato, but ever since he lost his lawyer job at the firm, he hasn't been himself. After years and years of regret and torture, he refused to face the fact life goes on. I bet if he wasn't forced to get up by his bladder every 5 hours he would have became a permanent fixing on the couch, like a vase, but not?

Behind his back I used to refer to him as Humpty Dumpty, round and was always sitting on his "wall". I would call my friend June and use the nickname as a disguise so I could talk as freely as I pleased without him and tinker-bell, the nickname I gave my mother, hearing me. June would always huff and puff, carrying on that I "shouldn't call my parents that." I referred to her like that because of the way she look, definitely not the way she acted. My mom was short, with blonde hair and always red cheeks, she was a cute and skinny little thing as so was I. People were always saying that I was an exact image of her, that it seemed like she spit me out, or cloned herself. To be honest, I was actually proud to state I looked like such a beautiful women.

Now that I was back at home, living under the same roof I was nearly two years ago just one thing was different, I was a new girl, with a new dream. I wanted to make myself happy with whatever I chose to do in life. I originally thought moving away would be the key to my success but maybe I was wrong. All I needed was soon to be found within the walls of the small town in Canada where health care was free and I'd meet the boy of my dreams, hopefully.