Crushes

Crushes. Don’t you just hate ’em? I’d think that by the age of 34, I’d be immune to this kind of thing, but I’m not. And this annoys me no end.

I define a crush not as something particularly obsessive, nor even particularly sexual. As a matter of fact, the whole concept seems a little cloyingly sweet for a jaded old cynic like myself. I don’t really want to jump the guy’s bones…it’s more of a desire to curl up and have long conversations. Maybe with a realtively laid back dog at the foot of the bed or something. He’s just a neat guy that I like talking to and would love to spend a lot more time with.

Gag…wretch…puke…