The one boyfriend that I expected to tell me that he loved me never did. I guess it doesn't matter because there was nothing he could have said that would have changed anything at anytime.
We grew up together. He and his friends used to harass me on a daily basis while I played in my yard. I only wanted to hulahoop (and what not) in peace, but they made sure to make their daily trip. They always referred to me as She-woman, like Heman, because I've always been a fairly big girl.
By the time he was 19 and I was 17, I had become Princess to him, which was really strange because his middle name was Prince, and he kind of looked like a frog and had some froggy tendencies. He was strangely fond of green. He even had two green cars. My friends and I called him Kermit (pronounced Ker-mee) behind his back, which is a tadpole, I mean tad bit, ironic because one of my nicknames as a child was Ms. Piggy; I earned that name because my dad's family considered me fat and bossy. Unfortunately, he never turned into the prince I needed or wanted him to be, despite the sweet, princess kisses I bestowed upon him--a fairy tale never realized.