It’s Buffoonery

So I’m not sure if I like him or not.  Is it possible?  Sure, I get a little giddy when I see him and stumble on my words and get even more giddy when I  know I am going to see him.

But isn’t that an expression of fondness?  Can’t it be a friendly feeling, like when you’re going to see a good friend after a long time?

But then again, you’re supposed to feel comfortable when you’re around your good friend.  Not nervous . . . unless you had to tell him something . . . like you were oddly attracted to him.

But isn’t that how it works, how it starts out?  You’re friends, and one or two develop feelings?

But what if I knew, I KNEW, my friend wasn’t good for me? Like literally, he was not good for me.  He’s a player.  He gets the V.  He doesn’t want a relationship, no “settling down,” no “ball and chain.”

Just the V.

But I like my V.  So I’m keeping it . . . until the famous, slightly imaginary “One” comes along.  Then the V’s out the window.  Sayonara.  Adios, amigo!

Rather, amiga.

So now I have a dilemma.  Quite the dilemma.  Never been in this situation before.  Actually, I might have.  A certain tall kid comes to mind.  My classmates and I used to call him egghead because his head looked like an egg.  Ha!  That was always funny.  He used to get so upset about it.

Thinking about it now, I kind of miss him.  Just a tad.

I remember jogging past his apartment building every summer morning, around sunrise, and imagine his bumping into me.  And then, just maybe, he would have a Taylor-Swift kind of epiphany and, in turn, ask me out.

That was always amusing.

But back to the current guy.

I was asked if I liked him, and I immediately said, no, why?  Because I talk about him a lot?

The answer was a shrug and a no.

And then the subject was changed.

But then I kept thinking about that moment later that day.  Was U being honest with myself?

Do I like him?

It did feel good to kiss him though . . .

I don’t even know what I want.  A relationship?  That’d be awesome.  But do I have the time?  The patience?  I can’t even handle myself.  How am I going to handle another person trying to handle me?

Do I want to have fun?  That’d be awesome too, but risky.  A good kind of risky, I think.  I’ve never really done anything that involved an ounce of risk in my life.  Maybe college is the place to do it.

No, I decide.

College is definitely the place to do it.

It’s my freshman year.  Why not?  Shrug it off, grab a thong, and hit the streets.

Okay, forget the thong.  Get those granny panties.  I’ll need them in case things get too intimate.  Use it as incentive to stop when hands are a teeny little ways too far.

Maybe I can have fun with him.

Catching feelings?

Ha!  I laugh at it.  It’s buffoonery.