Tell Me a Lie

Oh O*****.

You're so...pretty. I mean, you're cute too, but it goes beyond that word. You transcend conventional standards of aesthetics to this entirely new level of...godliness. Okay okay, I'm exaggerating. But still, you must admit, you're a lovely male specimen, better than what I've come across in a very long while. I'm surprised that guys and girls aren't constantly throwing themselves at you from all sides. However, I know more than a few people who wouldn't mind being alone with you in a dark corner of Bunker on a Friday night, myself included.

But that's where my infatuation stops. I found this out today at lunch, when you were sitting across from me and wincing at the sickening sweetness of dessert (lemon mousse. I enjoyed it, of course). You were being so funny too, and golden blonde tufts of hair peeked out from underneath the gray fedora you had on. I sneaked admiring glances at you from time to time and tried to imagine a few PG-13 rated fantasies. No go. I looked at you again, puzzled and confused. Why not? How could I not have cooked up a juicy scenario for the two of us? It didn't make sense until several hours later at dinner.

This time Karen was sitting across from me, and it was all I could do not to stare at her for the duration of the meal. When she laughed, I turned my neck so quickly towards her that it's a wonder I didn't get backlash. When she talked, I was all ears, hanging on her every word for dear life. I know I still like her even after November, but this past weekend's events reignited this dangerous, all-consuming passion I have for her. I'm hopeless. In any case, I was memorizing the outline of her profile and tracing the shape of her eyes on the palm of my hand, over and over, when it abruptly came to me: O***** is phenomenally good-looking and obnoxiously nice, and if he wanted a hook-up I would be only too happy to oblige. But I could never date him seriously. And therein lies the problem.

You see? I want an asshole. You can be mean, but there are lines you won't cross, lines that I've crossed and jumped and did a little dance on the other side. I need someone completely inappropriate and politically incorrect in the worst possible way, and you're not it. Such a shame though.

Also, and most importantly, I don't like you like that because you're my obstacle. My obstacle to the one I truly want right now: Her. HER. She wants YOU, and I want HER, and you're single now, and wouldn't it be beyond fucked up if you--by some freak accident--wanted ME???

Now that would be a TV show I would watch every week.

/Startling (But Not Really) Revelation