We were twelve. He was born on the same day as me, at the same hospital, delivered by the same doctor. When we finally met, I was the anxious new girl in his eighth grade homeroom.

He was shorter than me, a lot shorter, like all the boys back then, and neither one of us was cool. Apparently I was a little less cool than him, because we’d been meeting at a neighborhood park for a while, and he wanted to keep it a secret.

We were at a school dance, and it was the last song — a saxophone-laden ballad by George Michael. We’d been hugging at the end of every slow song, so I was confused when he pushed me back a little and then leaned toward me.

His kiss landed on my cheek, on the soft skin just below my eye and above my cheekbone. He barely touched me, and half my face lit up.

Walking out to the car where my mom was waiting, I could feel that spot glowing. Mom took me to the McDonald’s drive-thru for soft-serve butterscotch sundaes with crushed peanuts on top. I was uncharacteristically silent, every bit of me distilled into that one point where his lips had brushed me. Lovely.

Please join me in kissing Mrs. Heather B. Armstrong on the mouth, as she officially became an author today. Behold!

It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita

Heather is one of the hardest working people I know, so it’s hardly surprising that the book is already a success. In fact, she’s currently two spots below the President of the United States on the Amazon non-fiction rankings. Let’s see if we can do something to improve those numbers, shall we?

Somewhere in New York, there is a very pregnant woman jumping up and down on her hotel bed in her underwear. She may not be able to drink right now, but come June, there’s a case of Champagne with her name on it. In the meantime, the Internet can raise a glass in her honor.

You did it, girl.

Below you’ll find my answer to my guest prompt today on Plinky. I’ve been honing my Mighty Life list today, crossing a few things off, and making some changes based on the principle of dreaming bigger.

“Know basic French” and “Know basic Mandarin” became “Be conversational in seven languages.”
“Taste Durian” became “Taste 1,000 fruits.”
“Publish a piece of fiction” became “Write a novel.”
“Do something I think I can’t” became “Write a screenplay.”
“Attend my sister’s nursing school graduation” became “Get my health issues in hand,” because my sister has decided she loves her current career too much to tackle a new one.
“Gather together strangers I’ve wanted to meet” became “Organize a retreat.”

What have you been doing with your lists? Give us an update in comments.

My Plinky answer starts here:

I have a life list with a hundred items, which you’ll find in the left sidebar if you’re reading this on Mighty Girl. Here’s a handful of them:

Be conversational in seven languages.
For one, this is just a badass, super-spy thing to do. Nothing is hotter than the pasty redhead who surprises you by speaking Mandarin with the cab driver. (Except maybe the busty blonde who surprises you by speaking Mandarin with the cab driver. We’ll have to settle this with mud wrestling.)

Anyway, when I learned Spanish it changed how I thought. I had less access to irony and sarcasm, a greater tolerance for old-fashioned romance. It’s hard to sound cheesy in Spanish.

Language shapes our perception so fundamentally that we don’t even know it’s happening. Learning a new language teaches you another point of view, one that’s been honed over thousands of years by millions of people. It’s the deepest way to access another culture.

Go on a multi-day biking trip.
Like many writers, I don’t consider myself athletic. I was the kid picked last at kickball, the kid who never played soccer, the kid who died a little on dodgeball days.

So screw that. I never tried, which makes for an automatic fail. Now seems like a good time to put down the book and get off my ass. And I like bikes.

Do a “10 Things You Don’t Know About Women” feature for Esquire
Are they even doing these any more? I just realized that this month’s issue doesn’t have one, and I can’t remember seeing one for the last few months either. Shit.

Give $100 to a violin-playing busker.
Mostly, buskers irritate me. But if I hear a violin when I step off the train, it makes my whole day. I got $100 worth of two-dollar bills at the bank for just this purpose. Now I just need to spend a few days on the subway.

Lemonade on the front porch swing, warm summer night.
I can’t believe I’ve never done this. Friends, that’s no way to go.

Remember when I told you about Plinky? Well, I’m writing this week’s Plinky questions, which makes me feel powerful beyond measure. Well, moderately powerful anyway. Do my bidding!

I’m posting a new question every day this week, so go have a look.

In the meantime, Plinky didn’t have space for one of the prompts I wrote, so I thought we could answer it here:

Hideous, no? Now choose. Show your work in comments.

Things I want most on Mighty Goods for today and yesterday:

Par Avion Leather Laptop Sleeve

Ultimate Eggs