There is really not enough space on this thing devoted to boys. And I certainly don't want to give anyone the wrong idea--that boys are not, in fact, what I think about 85% of the time. (The other 15% is split 14 to 1 between eating and miscellany, respectively, in case you were wondering.) So anyway, the last three years have been filled with an almost endless string of extended flings (except for that 6-month dry spell junior year, but let's just forget about that.) Generally, I'll make out with a cute guy the instant I decide I like him, and then continue to do so periodically for anywhere from one to four months until one of us (usually the guy) realizes there's really not too much there beyond the making out part. Then, to get over that one, I line up a new one, realize that I was deluded in thinking the last one ever would have gone anywhere, and the cycle continues. All of this hasn't turned me into a total pessimist, per se, but I'm definitely a little emotionally hardened. Nevertheless, what happened yesterday turned me into a big, warm 'n fuzzy bowl of mush.
The main reason Perplexa and I decided on Montreal as a weekend getaway locale was because she has a friend, who is a boy, there from her study abroad summer in Spain. They've kept in touch for the last two years, and now, after graduating from some big college in Canada, he lives in Montreal with his cousins. Basically, he is tall and cute and has the nicest sounding voice. If there's one characteristic that's an instant "turn on" (sorry, don't mean to get all Cosmo up in here) for me, it's a nice, soothing voice. And he speaks French. And some other things that I find appealing, like a love of television and the ability to spell "definitely" correctly. So obviously I really wanted to make out with him. Logistics (i.e., sleeping on the floor of his cousins' apartment, although, as FAB can attest, such inconveniences have not stopped me in the past) didn't allow for that this weekend, however, but I confessed my desire to Perplexa upon our return. Then yesterday she received the following in an email from him:
i like your friend, do you think it's reciprocal.....things were simple in 6th grade when you passed a note to your "love interest" and asked her to profess her interest by checking the "yes" box.
Genius. I like a boy, he likes me, and there's no way I can fuck anything up, because he lives in another country. Why did it take so long to figure this out?
