I was once engaged to someone named Harold. We didn't call him Harry. I lost my virginity to Harold, in the back seat of his blue '56 Chevy. At least I did it in a classic car. On the other hand, no way I could have attained my present age without having done it in a classic car at some point. I suppose.

I went with him in high school. He was a "hood." Sort of. He had a blonde "Fonzi-do" - sort of. A buzz cut that went a little berserk at the top. A midwestern long hair. But all the hair stood straight up.

I didn't know what to say when he asked me to marry him before I left for college. That's when he asked me, not when he wanted to get married, although I suppose that would have been okay with him too. Seemed impolite to say no, when I'd been sleeping with him. And in those days, you didn't sleep with someone you didn't love. Not out loud, anyway. And I supposed I loved him, since I was sleeping with him, but secretly, way down deep inside, I knew I was only in it for the sex. Which I really, really liked.

I remember coming home after the first time and laying in bed, trying to feel different and special. I didn't. I just wanted to do it some more. In the meantime, I just went to sleep.

I have a Christmas card from him. He only signs it Harold, which I suppose means that I've already broken up with him. He gave me a ring from a store that gave Green Stamps. Anybody remember those? I returned the ring. Kept the Green Stamps.