Something like an original

We’d had it planned for a week. It worked best that way, and maybe to give ourselves that much preparation. (For me, that much preparation meant that I was a little dazed by the time it was finally yesterday. Overwhelmed.)

The mystery – which many have heard lately – could have been described as her being hot and cold. But I have refused to describe it like that: hot and cold has an overpoweringly misogynistic connotation.

The answer was that she was torn. Because 1) she’s young and therefore not interested in a progressive relationship right now and 2) she’s never really liked a boy before. But she still likes me.

Of course, to those two things my response must be that I have two years of graduate school left. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. There is no hurry.

I seem to like her more than I have anyone I’ve met so far. (That’s an odd, overly personal statement right there. One I’d like to delete.)

We are planning on doing something again next Sunday. I don’t yet have any idea what.

I’m still afraid of an 18 year old blonde.