In our imaginations, we meet at Columbus Circle or drink coffee in the dog park. We play tennis and she always lets me win. We play scrabble and drink tea. I cover her eyes at the gory parts of E.R. and we never miss Law & Order. We argue about which movie to watch. Amazingly, she finds my crabbiness endearing.
I crush on her on many counts: She shakes me when I need to snap out of it. She nicknames me: Deetzy, red, just plain Deetz. She calls me a sap. She says I'm foxy and obsesses about my red hair. She says things like, "I gather", "delicious creature," "red damn hair," "sweet jesus," and "surely you realize." She constantly claims she's bad in bed. She's always right there with a witty reply. She charms me with the turn of a phrase.
I enjoy her wry sense of humor. I delight in the fact that she's a cynic rather than rose-colored glasses and that she's pissed off at the world for the right reasons. I imagine she'd be protective of me, even though she knows I don't need much protecting. I imagine she'd grin and shyly avert her eyes when I took her hand. She's shiny. She dazzles. She's Holden Caulfield with a chain wallet and skateboard. And every time my little reptile's name pops up in my inbox, I'm the giddy-grinned girl passing notes in the back of class.
She's MY crush. And all the actresses, vanilla coke girls, therapists and chefs in the world can't take that away.
Friday, February 23, 2001
copyright 1999-2008 to the authors. we have a massive crush on you.