My Train Boyfriend
So there's this boy. I see him in the evenings at the Mart every now and again. He is in fact the hottest man on the planet. The first time I caught him checking me out, I actually turned around to see who he was looking at, he's that hot. Like, the Johnny Depp level of hot. Out-of-my-league hot. I-might-barf-on-his-shoes hot. HOTT.
We make googly eyes at each other every time, but that's as far as it's gone. I keep telling myself to talk to him, just say something crazy - like, oh, I don't know, perhaps "hi"? - but his hottness overwhelms me. Take last night.
I walk by him on the platform. Eye contact. Good lord. Also: yowza. Eye contact. Eye contact. The train comes. We maneuver ourselves onto the same car but then comically veer off in opposite directions. Dammit, we're stoopid. Of course the only seats open are up against the side of the train. I can't even see him, just one of his shoes. This sucks.
One stop goes by, then another. Suddenly a lady gets up and I scramble for her seat, feeling foolish. But it offers an improved sightline of Train Boyfriend, so. I make a big pretense of flipping through a magazine and examining my fingernails before finally risking a look. Because I'm 12.
Aaaaand he's not there. Crap! But it's not his stop yet, so ...? Oh. OH. Hee. We're such morons. Morons perhaps meant for each other.
He switched seats too.
The ensuing eye contact is faint-ilicous. Butterflies in my stomach. I can't look away. Staring. Staring. Staring.
"Excuse me," says the lady next to me. Beeotch. I stand to let her out and then, without thinking, plop myself down in her abandoned seat. Well that's just great. Now there's a stupid metal bar right between us, directly at eye level. I hate the CTA and wish all train designers everywhere dead. On the bright side, it affords me a chance to study train Boyfriend's supremely kissable lips. Verrrry nice. And then it's his stop and a herd of clueless people are standing between us, ignoring my mental order to MOVE SOME ASS RIGHT NOW JERKS. Finally we catch eyes for a split second ... right before he disappears down the stairs.
Oh, Train Boyfriend. I will talk to you one day, I really, really will.
Just probably not today.
We make googly eyes at each other every time, but that's as far as it's gone. I keep telling myself to talk to him, just say something crazy - like, oh, I don't know, perhaps "hi"? - but his hottness overwhelms me. Take last night.
I walk by him on the platform. Eye contact. Good lord. Also: yowza. Eye contact. Eye contact. The train comes. We maneuver ourselves onto the same car but then comically veer off in opposite directions. Dammit, we're stoopid. Of course the only seats open are up against the side of the train. I can't even see him, just one of his shoes. This sucks.
One stop goes by, then another. Suddenly a lady gets up and I scramble for her seat, feeling foolish. But it offers an improved sightline of Train Boyfriend, so. I make a big pretense of flipping through a magazine and examining my fingernails before finally risking a look. Because I'm 12.
Aaaaand he's not there. Crap! But it's not his stop yet, so ...? Oh. OH. Hee. We're such morons. Morons perhaps meant for each other.
He switched seats too.
The ensuing eye contact is faint-ilicous. Butterflies in my stomach. I can't look away. Staring. Staring. Staring.
"Excuse me," says the lady next to me. Beeotch. I stand to let her out and then, without thinking, plop myself down in her abandoned seat. Well that's just great. Now there's a stupid metal bar right between us, directly at eye level. I hate the CTA and wish all train designers everywhere dead. On the bright side, it affords me a chance to study train Boyfriend's supremely kissable lips. Verrrry nice. And then it's his stop and a herd of clueless people are standing between us, ignoring my mental order to MOVE SOME ASS RIGHT NOW JERKS. Finally we catch eyes for a split second ... right before he disappears down the stairs.
Oh, Train Boyfriend. I will talk to you one day, I really, really will.
Just probably not today.
Tequila Red called it a day @ 9:28 AM
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