So, maybe it happens like this: there's this guy you've known for a long time and you've worked together a bit off and on for a while, but you can remember meeting him and thinking at the time, "Meh, not for me." Then one day there's something that happens: you find yourself blushing, and swimming in the pools of his eyes. You have a "coffee" after work that turns into a dinner. You have a real official date: he gives you a respectful good night kiss (no tongue) that curls your toes. You drift off to sleep thinking, WOW! Why didn't I see this before?
A few days pass: you know he's kind of into that macho thing and hell, since he's your age and never been married you don't expect this to go too fast, right? Right. At least that's what you tell yourself when the phone rings--which you jump up to answer and almost throw out the window in a fit of anger when the person ringing Isn't Him. You bump into him at work: he sort of waves at you and ducks away quickly. You think, oh, shit, not this again. You think of that kiss: my god, he held your face and brushed his thumb gently across your mouth, then kissed your eyelids, before planting one on you, one of the best kisses you've ever had--and you think, what the HELL? A mutual friend takes you out to lunch, ostensibly to discuss the lining of her new coat. It's a ruse. She tells you that she'd had cocktails with him the night before and he confessed after his third Dirty Mother that as much as he likes you, you are--and I quote --"too fucking smart for him."
What do you do? Do you run towards him shrieking, "I am SO NOT too smart for you," which you then prove by making really, really bad choices, largely in the monkey lovin' department, just to show you're a fool and therefore worthy of his attention? Or do you suck it up and put this down to experience and move on, a little sadder, a little wiser, and still thinking of that kiss, wondering if, in the fullness of time, it is your last, ever.
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