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…
