Most Likely To... Play With Fire (Part 5)

This is part 5 of a series of posts titled Most Likely To....  They are my life stories.  You can read the complete story here:

• Most Likely To... (part 1) here,
• Most Likely To... Marry a Rich Guy (part 2) here,
• Most Likely To... Have Friends in High Places (part 3) here.  
• Most Likely To... Fall Head Over Heels (Part 4) here .

The rest of that summer passed by slowly.  Between trying to avoid meeting Ash and nursing a broken heart, I couldn't wait for school to start in September.  I still hang out with Leigh a lot, but mostly at her house, trying not to be too obvious about my sudden aversion to Ash.

Things started to look up a bit when she decided to no longer have a crush on Ash's brother.  You see, with Leigh, she could switch guys and transfer her affections like an on/off button.  I wished I could do the same--it certainly would make life so much easier.  But I did enjoy living vicariously through Leigh, me just sitting on the sidelines while watching her flirt with different guys.  I admitted it could get really awkward at times, what with Leigh making me tagged along like a third wheel when she's on different dates.  Poor blokes.  You should see the 'surprised, tinged with disappointment' look they all had the moment they realized there would be three of us instead of just the two of them.  Sorry boys, you're not gettin' any tonight, that's for sure.

It did have its perks though.  I got to observe different types of guys from where I was sitting on the sidelines.  You do have to kiss a LOT of frogs before you find your prince--at least that's what happened in Leigh's case.   Most were just plain pathetic; those ones we would men-bash and laughed at as soon as they dropped us on Leigh's doorstep at the end of the night.  Some we would disagree on; mostly me begging Leigh not to break the guy's heart.  We did meet some weirdo ones too, like that guy who thought it was a good idea to tell Leigh that there were girls guys bring home to introduce to their mamas (that being Leigh), and then there were girls guys just wanted to f*ck and be done with (for some reason he used me as an example).  I didn't have to be Einstein to figure out I wasn't going to ever see him again after that.

Living in a town where everybody most likely knew everybody else, we would frequently run into my older cousins, all of whom knew Leigh as well.  I remembered one particular night, when Leigh and I met one of my cousins in a bar.  The same bar where I was with Ash that last time.  Naturally I wasn't in the best mood, still being a sour grape and half resenting Leigh for dragging me there.  My cousin introduced me to a friend of hers, maybe out of pity because at the time he was looking kinda bored, being one of the first in his group to arrive.

His name was Leathan.  I remembered the name clearly because it was an unusual name.  And also because when I shook his hand, Leathan didn't even look at me.  His eyes were somewhere else, as if searching for something or someone who wasn't there.  He also had this scowl on his face.  What a pompous ass, I thought to myself.  And just when I thought the night couldn't possibly get any worse!

By the time school started in September, I was actually looking forward to be back at the boarding house, away from home and everything that reminded me of Ash that summer.  I thought I could trick my mind into believing he never existed once I was back in school.  Different town, different crowd.  But I found myself comparing every boy in and out of school to him, finding them lacking this and that, but basically just because they weren't him.  My mind oscillated between hating him and missing him so much.

I just got back from the shower one Saturday morning when the phone rang.  Annoyed that I hadn't had a chance to dry my hair yet, with water still dripping from my wet hair, I half-yelled my hello into the receiver.  There was a pause on the other end, and then the person said, "Hi."

The moment I heard that voice, I knew.  It was Ash.

I remembered the awkwardness at the beginning.  I wasn't exactly friendly, suddenly remembering again what happened the last time we met.   And yet the joy of hearing his voice again, when I had given up hope of ever hearing from him, was too much for me to contain.

It was a conversation that lasted for over two-and-a-half hours.  We took turns asking questions, joking and laughing in between, subtly letting the other know how we each felt without saying the actual words.  Almost as if there were no tomorrow, we were desperately trying to know about each other as much as possible.

He didn’t mention anything about his girlfriend, and I didn’t ask.

Most Likely To... Fall Head Over Heels (Red Writing Hood version)

This week's prompt: to explore romantic heartbreak. For you fiction writers, here’s a chance to really delve into the psyche of your character. For you non-fiction folk, well, maybe it’s into your psyche you must delve. We all remember that first love, just like we all remember when our hearts broke for the first time.  Write a piece – 600 word limit – about the first heartbreak your character or you experienced.

Note:  A short while ago I wrote a post, titled Most Likely to Fall Head Over Heels, which is part of a series of posts titled Most Likely To..., that tell the story of my life.  When I read this week's prompt, I wanted to write a new post, but at the end, I chose to submit a revised, shortened version of Most Likely To Fall Head Over Heels.  I thought, not only would it be repetitive to write about the same subject (my first heartbreak, that is) twice, but the original post described what I felt perfectly and I would not have it written in any other way.

Leigh and I were the last to arrive at the meeting place. I literally had to keep biting my lips to keep myself from blurting stupid things like, "I love you, Ash. Will you be mine??" Right away I knew where he stood in that room. I could've spotted him from a mile a way, in a sea of a thousand other faces. I felt a smile escaping from my lips when he finally saw me.

And then I saw his hand. It was holding someone else's hand.

I wanted to hate her, but damn it, she was so nice. Truly, sincerely nice. And it wasn’t her fault I fell in love with her boyfriend. Still, it felt like somebody ripped my ribcage open, threw my heart on the floor, then stomped it to pieces.

I couldn't believe Ash had a girlfriend.

What hurt the most, was that I actually got to talk to Ash that night. Really talked. About nothings and everything. We sat next to each other on the bar while everybody else were on the dance floor. The loud music meant we had to whisper in each others’ ears so that the other could hear.

Being that close to him took my breath away. I noticed how his eyes crinkled at the ends whenever he laughed. How his voice reverberated in my ear and how his lips were only a few inches away from mine... How I caught him looking at me and then looked away as soon as our eyes met...

And so I fell even deeper. Even though I didn’t want to. I couldn’t help it. I wanted that voice, that laughter, that person who listened and told me stories as we sat there just the two of us on that bar. I wanted him. I didn’t want that night to ever end.

But it did. We were still talking, oblivious to the world around us, when Ash's girlfriend suddenly came into view. I had forgotten about her, and now she’s back from the dance floor, reminding me all over again that I was intruding on someone else’s territory.

We all went home shortly afterwards; most of the guys were already trashed and the girls were complaining that their feet were starting to hurt from all the dancing on killer heels. I could see that Leigh was in her happy place: sober enough to behave, but not likely to notice my absence from the dance floor earlier.

Good, I wasn’t in the mood to explain anyways.

Just as I was about to climb into Leigh’s car, I saw that Ash turned his head around and looked in my direction. My heart did a little flip, but the sight of his girlfriend walking alongside him blew me back to reality. I quickly averted my eyes and went inside the car.

I told myself I wasn’t going to see him again. Seeing him would only hurt me more because I knew I would fall deeper in love the more I knew him. Could this 'love' be any more one-sided?!? Afterall, Ash had a girlfriend, and I didn’t see him dumping her anytime soon. Especially for someone like me.

I cried when I got home that night. I cried for days after that. I kept telling myself that I was an idiot of the highest caliber, because why cry for someone whom I had only met twice, talked for a total of three hours at most, and had a girlfriend!

Leigh asked me to go hang out with Ash and his brother again a few more times after that night. I always came up with some excuse not to go. She started to give me these funny looks, but I didn't care. My heart was broken. I felt broken.

Then, three weeks later, I got a phone call.

It was Ash.

----------------------------------------------------

**You can read the original, extended version of Most Likely To... Fall Head Over Heels here.

Most Likely To... Fall Head Over Heels (Part 4)

... I didn't think it was ever possible to find someone who could measure up to Leigh's standards. Until I met Ash. He passed all those 'tests' in flying colors. And I fell for him hard. Like oh-my-god-I-can't-breathe hard. The only thing was, did he feel the same way too about me?

From Most Likely To... Have Friends in High Places (Part3)

This is part 4 of a series of posts titled Most Likely To..., which are--basically--my life story.  If you'd like, you can read:

• Most Likely To... (part 1) here,
• Most Likely To... Marry a Rich Guy (part 2) here,
• Most Likely To... Have Friends in High Places (part 3) here.

In my post A Detour to One Memory Lane, I wrote of meeting a boy named Ash for the first time.  I remembered coming home that night, my mind struggling like an unwilling captive although my heart had obviously gone to be with this person, whom I didn’t even know existed until that night.  Suddenly, he was my whole world. I wanted longed to be with him again, to know everything there was to know about him.

In my head, I dissected the scenes from earlier that night over and over, each time cursing myself for both the things I did and didn’t do.  I wondered if he was thinking of me, or if he thought about me at all.  I thought of his smile, of him asking me to dance, of him not talking to me again for the rest of the night, of feeling his gaze and his very existence from across the room... 

I was enchanted.

I was also in hell, because as much as I wanted to see him again, I was too embarrassed to admit to Leigh of my new-found love.  How could I be in love?  It’s probably just an infatuation.  Nobody fell in love after only meeting once!

A few days later, Leigh and I were at a driving range hitting some golf balls when her mobile rang.  It was Ash.  He asked if we’d like to join him, his brother, and the usual gang later that night.  Leigh was ecstatic, because it meant she got to see Ash’s brother again.  As for me, I was beyond elated!  I was going to see Ash again... this boy, who had occupied all of my heart (and most of my brain since I could hardly think of anything else) ever since he asked me to dance a few days earlier.

Leigh and I were the last to arrive at the meeting place.  I literally had to keep biting my lips to keep myself from blurting stupid things like, "I love you, Ash.  Will you be mine??"  Right away I knew where he stood in that room.  I could've spotted him from a mile a way, in a sea of a thousand other faces.  I felt a smile escaping from my lips when he finally saw me.

And then I saw his hand.  It was holding someone else's hand.

I wanted to hate her, but damn it, she was so nice.  Truly, sincerely nice.  And it wasn’t her fault I fell in love with her boyfriend.  Still, it felt like somebody ripped my ribcage open, threw my heart on the floor, then stomped it to pieces. 

I couldn't believe Ash had a girlfriend.

What hurt the most, was that I actually got to talk to Ash that night.  Really talked. About little inconsequential things to our childhood wishes and dreams.  We sat next to each other on the bar while everybody else were on the dance floor.  The loud music meant we had to whisper in each others’ ears so that the other could hear.  

Being that close to him took my breath away.  I noticed how his eyes crinkled at the ends whenever he laughed... How his voice--still one of the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard even today--sounded like in my ear when he leaned his face to only an inch away from mine... How he wrap a napkin around the bottom of my drink before passing it to me... How I caught him looking at me and then looked away as soon as our eyes met...

And so I fell even deeper.  Even though I didn’t want to.  I couldn’t help it.  I wanted that voice, that laughter, that person who listened and told me stories as we sat there just the two of us on that bar.  I wanted him.  I didn’t want that night to ever end. 

But it did.  We were still talking, oblivious to the world around us, when Ash's girlfriend suddenly came into view.  I had forgotten about her, and now she’s back from the dance floor, reminding me all over again that I was intruding on someone else’s territory.

We all went home shortly afterwards; most of the guys were already trashed and the girls were complaining that their feet were starting to hurt from all the dancing on killer heels.  I could see that Leigh was in her happy place: sober enough to behave, but not likely to notice my absence from the dance floor earlier.

Good, I wasn’t in the mood to explain anyways.

Leigh’s chaffeur came to pick us up near the entrance, so we said goodbye to the rest of the group.  Just as I was about to climb into Leigh’s car, I saw that Ash turned his head around and looked in my direction.  My heart did a little flip, but the sight of his girlfriend walking alongside him, holding his right-hand, blew me back to reality.  I quickly averted my eyes and went inside the car.

I told myself I wasn’t going to see him again.  Seeing him would only hurt me more because I knew I would fall deeper in love the more I knew him.  Then obviously, I would be in deep trouble, wouldn't I?  I mean, could this 'love' be any more one-sided?!?  Ash had a girlfriend for f*uck sake, and I didn’t see him dumping her anytime soon.  Especially for someone like me.

I cried when I got home that night.  I cried for days after that.  I kept telling myself that I was a dumb ass, apparently of the highest caliber, because why cry for someone whom I had only met twice, talked for a total of... three hours at most, and had, um, (hellooo???) a girlfriend!!!  

Leigh asked me to go hang out with Ash and his brother again a few more times after that night.  I always came up with some excuse not to go.  She started to give me these funny looks, but I didn't care.  My heart was broken.  I felt broken.

Then, three weeks later, I got a phone call.

It was Ash.

(to be continued)

Most Likely To... Have Friends in High Places (Part 3)

This is part 3 of a series of posts titled Most Likely To..., which are--basically--my life story.  If you'd like, you can read:

• Most Likely To... (part 1) here, and 
• Most Likely To... Marry a Rich Guy (part 2) here.

My friend Leigh was a trust-fund baby.  Her future, at least financially, was secured the moment she was born.  Leigh's parents originally came from a small, little-known town miles away from any major cities.  Neither her mother nor father had ever received formal education; yet in spite of their humble beginnings, Leigh's father had a knack for business and became successful in several manufacturing and properties ventures.  He was truly what you would call a self-made man.  Leigh's mother was a full-time housewife who stayed home to raise her six children.  She was a devoted wife and mother; she was the heart of the family, a motherly figure who kept the whole household going and every one together.

Compared to Leigh's parents, my parents came from a far more 'sophisticated' background.  Both my father and mother were college-educated; my father was an architect and my mother was a doctor.  My mother was the daughter of a highly respectable doctor and college professor.  She was beautiful and brainy.  My father's family wasn't as well-known, but since young, my father was known as the town's most handsome bad-boy.  He was charming and dashing; girls literally fell on his feet.  My father was also used to getting whatever he wanted.  He was his parents' favorite son, and they spoiled him rotten. 

My parents met when they were fifteen.  My father was my mother's first boyfriend; my mother was neither my father's first nor last girlfriend.  They dated for 8 years (during which my father had already two or three-timed my mother) before they got married.

Marriage didn't stop my father from being a womanizer.  He also became addicted to gambling.  When he won, he would splurge all the money on expensive watches, cars, and more women.  When he lost... more than once my mother had to pack up at a moment's notice because he had gambled our houses away.  Although he was never physically abusive towards my mother and me, when he's angry he would smash mirrors or windows until his fists gashed open.  He would challenged random men to fight if he caught them talking to my mother.  He would drive like crazy to intimidate my mother while I was cradled on the back seat without any car seat.  

My mother was so hurt and betrayed by her marriage to my father, that she came to invest her entire life on her studies and career--at first as a way of deflecting the pain, and later, as the only thing she knew how to do.  

My parents divorced when I was three years-old, but their fights and bitterness continued for years afterwards.  So deeply hurt and betrayed was my mother that since then she had come to invest her entire life on her studies and career.  At first it was her way of dealing with the pain; later, it became the only thing she felt confident in and could rely on.

My father went bankrupt by the time I was five years-old and never recovered, leaving my mother to raise and support me single-handedly.  Her experience convinced her to provide me with the best education she could possibly afford, in order for me to one day be financially independent (because as she said, men simply couldn't be trusted).  Hence my enrollment in expensive private schools and college.  Her hard work was enough to pay the bills, but we couldn't afford anything else or have any savings.

It intrigued me, the comparison between Leigh's parents and mine.  Compared to Leigh's parents, my parents had everything going for them: brain, beauty, background.  Yet their lives suffered because they made a series of bad choices that affected them for the rest of their lives.

My father's womanizing and gambling ways was a huge reason I was determined to NOT make the same decisions my mother had.  And I went straight for the obvious: I would never marry someone like my father.  Looks weren't important, financial stability was first and foremost.

It may sound pretty normal coming from an adult looking to settle down, but I was already thinking that way for as far back as I could remember.  When I was twelve or thirteen, and my friends were talking about how cute so and so was, what went on in my mind was entirely different.  My mind immediately went: "Well, good-looking as he may be, how much money does his family have in the bank?  Will it be enough to afford the kind of life that is different from the life I had growing up?"

That was me growing up.  It was drilled into my mind that I wasn't going to fall for a mere pretty face the way my mother did for my father.  Look at all the good it did her!

So hanging out with Leigh and her wealthy friends suited me just fine.  I've adapted to their lifestyle: the way the dressed, the way they talked, they way they perceived things.  I've observed details such as the way they held their drinks, their body language, the subtle gestures they made...  I no longer felt inferior; I knew how to carry myself among my affluent friends.  For some reason I felt safe, like I was exactly where I should be.

Leigh was not only the big sister I never had, but she inadvertently became my ticket to the high society.  She taught me the importance of networking, and of "swimming with the big fishes."  She taught me how to spot the wolves in a sheep's clothing (i.e. those who pretended to be rich by the cars they drove, the branded clothes they wore, the flashy watches they sported) as opposed to those who were truly, honest-to-God-wealthy.  She taught me things my mother never told me, like:

• Most guys just wanted to get into your pants (big surprise there).
• Yes, he's a cutie and an amazing kisser, but seriously, he made you pay for dinner?!?
• Never spend money on a guy more than what he's spent on you.
• Rich, but stingy?  NEXT...
• Be careful of whom you dated, because women were always more emotional than men.  You might think it was just for fun in the beginning, but then you sleep with him and before you knew it, you had abandoned all common sense.

If you're starting to think that Leigh would have made one heck of a great pimp, I don't blame ya.  She was 100% money-oriented.  But Leigh also had integrity.  She told me that discipline and good work-ethics were even more important than the amount of money a guy had.  A guy must know how to earn money, because wealth could always come and go.  "Don't ever settle... Go for the best," she used to say.

I didn't think it was ever possible to find someone who could measure up to Leigh's standards.  Until I met Ash.  He passed all those 'tests' in flying colors.  And I fell for him hard.  Like oh-my-god-I-can't-breathe hard.  The only thing was, did he feel the same way too about me? 

(to be continued...)

Read part 4 here.

A Detour to One Memory Lane

I was going to write part 3 of my "Most Likely to... " posts when suddenly my mind took a detour and wanted me to write about this instead.  In many ways, it is relevant to my life story and how I end up where I am today.  Perhaps that was why my mind decided it's time to take a little trip down this memory lane...

One summer I started hanging out a lot with my friend Leigh, who was six years older than me.

Leigh was like a big sister I never had.  Our mothers knew each other, and from the moment we met, Leigh immediately took me under her wings.  She was wise beyond her years; many of her advice I still remembered today.  Coming from a wealthy family, Leigh always reminded me, "money makes the world go round."  It might sound terribly materialistic, but I knew Leigh meant well.  She knew about my father being a gambler, and how my mother and I had suffered because of it.  She told me, "a woman as beautiful as your mother* shouldn't have such a hard life.  Don't repeat her mistakes." (*please read "I, the Ugly Duckling")

Leigh also knew how to party and had fun; I had my first [under-aged] trip to the clubs and [illegal] drink with Leigh and her friends.  What's amazing about her though, was that I never once saw Leigh drunk or behaved unlady-like during all those times we partied together.   

One morning Leigh called me.  A guy she had recently met invited her to hang out with him and his friends that weekend.  Leigh had a crush on him, but she didn't want to go alone, so she asked me to come along.  We were to meet up that Friday at some bar to watch a local band performed. 

They were already there by the time Leigh and I arrived.  After a brief introduction to one another, Leigh and I joined the group--4 guys and 3 girls whose names I didn't quite catch.  I couldn't help feeling a little out of place, most of them looked like they were Leigh's age.  When you're fifteen, anybody above 18 years old were considered "way too old."  These guys were at least 21. Definitely out of my league!  So I turned my attention to the band that's playing on the stage.

I was slowly swaying to the music, quietly minding my own business, when I felt a soft tap on my back.  I quickly turned around, ready to deliver a mean punch with my right fist should it turned out to be some perv out to get young innocent girls, when I realized that it was one of the boys I was introduced to earlier.  I didn't remember his name though; I was too nervous, being introduced to new faces all at once, to pay any attention.  On a closer look, he appeared younger than the rest, more my age actually.  Being socially inept, I must've stood there with my "What-do-you-want?" face (previously intended for lurking pervs) for at least five seconds before switching to a "please-say-something-because-I-really-can't-think-of-anything-to-say" face.

If he thought I was an idiot, he didn't show it.  He just smiled and said, "Would you like to dance?"  And I could've sworn I felt electric currents making my heart pitter-pattered because just like that, I fell madly in love with this boy--a boy whose name I didn't remember at first.  It was like I was bewitched.  Still speechless, I could only nod.  He held out his hand for me to hold, and together we slowly made our way to the dance floor.  I couldn't recall how long we were dancing, or if I did any dancing at all.  All I remembered was this boy, dancing in front of me, and everything else faded into the background. 

By the time he took me back to where Leigh was sitting, it was like I was a different person.  My thoughts, my feelings, my happiness, my sadness, my plans, and my existence, suddenly revolved around this boy.  He said, "Thank you for the dance" and went to join his friends.  

We didn't talk again for the rest of the night, but this time I was painfully aware of his presence: how he lowered his head as he listened to one of his friends, how he held a glass in his hands, how he moved across the room, the sound of his laughter as he joked around with his friends.

I waited until Leigh and I were in the car, on the way home, before I asked her--in a nonchalant voice--about who the boy was.  Leigh told me he was her crush's younger brother, who was around the same age as me.  "Oh, I see," was my response.  

That night was how I met Ash.  For the next seven years of my life, I was in love with him.   

  

 

Most Likely To... Marry a Rich Guy (Part 2)

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Most Likely To...

Remember back in high school, in your senior year, when your classmates voted the 'Most Likely' list?  What did they vote you as?

Funny how out of the blue, as I was watching TV earlier today, I suddenly remembered about that.

I wish I could recall where my yearbook is right now, for I would've loved to scan a copy of it and post it here.  However, since high school, I've probably moved places and cities at least 7 or 8 times, so I presume that there's either a high-school yearbook with my name written on its first page, tucked around safely in some storage corner, or that some street vendor had probably used up all its papers (my high school picture included) to make wraps for some dang honey-roasted peanuts or something.  Let's hope it's the first and not the latter.

Have you ever wondered about your life now, and how it corresponds (or not) to that little cutesy high-school title your friends gave you?  Say you do, because otherwise I'd have to tell myself that I'm the only one who ever does that because I have nothing better to do with my days than to ponder about how my life corresponds to my high-school title.  That would suck.

For my regular readers (ooh, doesn't that make me sound like a professional writer? Love it!), I'm sure by now you've caught glimpses of who I am as a person and are able to at least form some kind of an impression.  For new readers out there to whom this post is the first (not the last, I hope) you've ever read of my blog, here's how I was back in high school:

I was a nerd who would weep and wail on my bed whenever I earned less than A- on my homework and exams.  I  was the student council president.  I was shy and awkward upon meeting new people.  I stayed in a boarding school with minimal supervision (yes, our house director rocked!) but I always clocked in on-time for the study time, even when I was a senior with senior privileges who didn't have mandatory study time.

I was also one of the first students who illegally owned a mobile phone in my boarding house.  One day, the said mobile phone went missing, and since it's a serious offense to have one (yeah the good ol' days), I freaked out and turned my bedroom upside down, all the while cursing in at least 3 different languages.  The house director thought I had a nervous breakdown, and I couldn't tell the truth because if they found out about my mobile phone, they would've issued a detention, and 2 detentions could get you kicked out of the school.  So the brilliant student counselor put me on a "suicide" watch, and  for three days I had to sleep next door to the school's spiritual counselor.  I couldn't sleep or even take a leak with the door closed.  At the end of those 3 days I really did feel like I was already well on my way to the cuckoo's nest.

I had boys came over to pick me up with their sports car every weekends (the perks of going to a private all-girls school awesome enough to be surrounded by private ivy league universities, people!), so to some teachers and students, I was perceived as a party animal with slightly lesser morals than the other party-going girls who sneaked boys into their bedrooms but was too street-smart to ever get caught.  And also because I just happened to look like a bitch of the highest order.  That's what I meant when I said it sucked to have people think you're snooty and all that just because of your face.  It wasn't because of race, religion, or even cultural background.  And it wasn't even because I was crazy beautiful or anything like that.  It was purely because of my effin face, one that I happened to be born with.  People seemed to agree it had "bitchy" written all over it.  Oh, and the boys tend to assume I was either an airhead or an intimidating bitch (sigh. Notice how the "bitch" kind of came up often?). 

Still, I loved my high-school years.  I had a close knit of good friends, who all said at some point, "Gosh, and here I thought you were such a bitch when I first saw you."  Yeah, heard that before.  The teachers couldn't really get mad at me for long because at least I made their classes looked interesting, by answering their questions when most of the other girls had fallen asleep in their chairs.  In fact, I frequented their offices so much after school, always with a million questions, that they perhaps gave me all those As just to get rid of me.  And hell yeah, dating life wasn't that bad either.

So, what I wanted to ask you was, could you guess what 'Most Likely' title my friends gave me on my high-school yearbook?  What's yours??  Tell me, tell me, tell me!!!

(Wanna know the answer?  Read part 2 :)