rm | I keep telling this story lately

rollick posted a poll the other day about what's most uncomfortable to discuss with both strangers and friends. Options included stuff like money, sex and health. But the number one choice in both sections of the poll was "fantasy life," so she is now soliciting input on what people mean by that.

In my usual fashion, I side-stepped the question, but told this story instead, which is the sort of thing that lingers with me as a significant horror.

Actually, I have a story, that explains it all. When I was in high school, my best friend got a nose job for her 16th birthday. As she was coming out of the anesthesia, she started talking to a character from a soap opera that was, of course, not in the room, but that, as these things go, was terribly important to her -- not just a crush, but a sort of internal friend/romantic object. Of course, her parents _were_ there and never let her live it down. Mock her about it to this day. And it makes me sad, and terrifies me.

Love is big and complicated and alone and often fictional, even when directed at real people. It seems cruel to tease, especially a teenager, about such things. It's what made me understand that fantasy is dangerous, poorly regarded, and the swiftest weapon against anyone, and for all I say, there is so much I don't.