Another Day at Work

Last night I worked at the restaurant (so what else is new, I know shut up), and on Monday nights I always work with this cook (re)named Puppy Eyes. He is tall and skinny with a flop of thick, dark hair on his head. And he is very. Very. Nice. But also ridiculously flirtatious. Thus, he enjoys teasing me, and I enjoy ignoring his remarks/mock-glances full of longing until I need him to cook something. This is how my Monday nights go, without fail, week after week since I started school here (another story, another time).

Now anyone who--for some bizarre, unfathomable reason--frequents this blog knows that I am a Frustrated Virgin. And there is nothing more I would love than to lose it RIGHT NOW. AT THIS TABLE IN THE STUDENT UNION. AS I AM CURRENTLY TYPING THIS. Anyway. For months, I have kept this low-simmering tension at bay, but as the end of my teenage years approaches (November 4 WOOT WOOT), I am no longer able to effectively reign in my urges/flashes/Demonic Possession of my nether-regions--whatever. What I am trying to say after all this necessary context I have given you is that this frycook is not a bad-looking guy. In fact, he is very cute. Cute and nice all wrapped up in a demeanor that screams "CORRUPT ME AND SHOW ME THINGS."

Unfortunately, my body yearns to return this primitive call. I bitch-slap my libido and tell it to calm the fuck down. It does not. You could interpret this post as a "I'm considering making a Bad Call, Edition #498375," but it is not. Not really. You see, I have not written a word nor told a soul of what Puppy Eyes has been doing or what I wish to do to him. If I do not let someone--anyone--know, I will go crazy and indeed make The Bad Call, Edition #498375. This is me being proactive! Look at me being proactive and taking cautionary measures to prevent another Mini-Restaurant Scandal! Of course, the fact that I am the owner's offspring and he the frycook/"the help" is not the scandal-worthy tidbit.

He is married. Yeah. I did not mention that earlier >>