I assure you, they do not! And Caroline isn’t my first. Not even my first Jeep! Just my current. 
And, Hey, gigi. I’d be happy to be your boyfriend! My name is Gatopescado. 
Catherine.
I was 15, she was 17 in the late 1980s. She was a new transfer and two grades older but in the same math class. Our teacher assigned me as her tutor. We spent lots of afterschool homework sessions together. Eventually she got a car and we’d go to the local mall, sites, etc. We both learned and explored a lot together. She was my “first”. We had a “friendly” break-up when she graduated later that year.
She ended up going to a local state college and we kept in touch while I was still in high school. We had a mini reunion/birthday party for me that November. She cooked my favorite Filipino dishes and baked a cake, too. We caught up on a lot. She said she was doing poorly at school, got a part-time job without telling her strict-Catholic parents, and was dating someone already. She seemed tired and stressed but still had that smile and shine in her eyes. We said goodnight later that evening and I drove home.
Two weeks later, her cousin, who attended the same high school as me, came into the library crying telling me that Catherine was found dead earlier that morning. She had committed suicide via carbon monoxide poisoning in her car. At her funeral I found out that she was failing school, had gotten fired from her job and parents found out and… she was pregnant.
Dude! Way to harsh my mellow!
Shit. I was 17. Now I am 40. And it still “complicated”.