Ok. I didn't know whether I should write about this but it's kind of cheating the process if I don't.
On Friday, (Mom and any other family members reading this, you might want to stop now.) I sent a proposal to a fellow I've known a while with the encouragement of Zachy, so he can be partially blamed. (Mom, seriously stop reading). It may have gone something like this, "Hi, want to make out tonight?" Logistics were set up. His arrival at my apartment happened. I suddenly, lost my boldness and became amazingly awkward. I know if you send the suggestive text message it's your job to make the move but I got more like myself and chickened out. This lameness, on my part, continued for about two hours. Two hours of strange television watching. Craig Ferguson is funny but not exactly mood music. So he must figure after two hours that I'm not going to do anything and gets up to leave. I pull out my last card. The Pouting Card. It hasn't failed me yet and didn't fail me this time either. A little pout and a fake good-bye hug later and we have makey outey. Two hours of makey outey to counter two awkward hours. Word. Now you know, Mom.
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