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!
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.
Ha! I laugh at it. It’s buffoonery.