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Exactly a year before I remember sitting in his brand new Tahoe Z-71, listening to sappy Dave Matthews music as he was trying to woo me. Suddenly he was leaning over me, pressing me up against the door of his car. His breath was heavy; it reeked of gefilte fish. I made some lame excuse and practically fell out of the car, running back inside as soon as I could.

And now my friends were stalking him at my sister's bat mitzvah luncheon. "He's so hot!" they cooed. "Who is that boy?"

When i uttered his name, they all drew back in horror, because they'd heard about him before. The dumb jock from Kinkaid- my parents' best friends' son. The one who was (unfortunately) always hitting on me.

"And WHY didn't you hook up with him?" they demanded.
So I tried to explain that I'd known him since I was 3 and he was 4, when he threw up in the pool at swimming lessons and the whole thing had to be drained. That I saw him at every Jewish holiday, and that things would be, well, weird. And that he was, above all, a spoiled, self-centered prick with no respect for anyone else. Why would I want to get involved with that?

Then they laid their plans on the table. To counter the awkardness, we could just hook up every time we saw each other. No one would ever have to know about it, and it didn't matter what his personality was like- as long as he was a good kisser.
"It'll be perfect," one of them said. "You guys can start by hooking up tonight, at the Seder."

"So, Clifton, are you coming to Passover?"

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