God, today has been awkward. And it was most certainly awkward due to my own idiocy.
Usual morning. HarryPotter stumbling about the flat in his pants, closed light blue terrycloth dressing gown and one sock. Hair sticking up on one side and matted down on the other. Stubble across his face, sucking down a cup of instant coffee, while pouring milk and cereal into a mixing bowl. He’s never looked sexier.
Suddenly, I’ve got some sort of school girl crush. A month ago he was nothing more than a mate, a week ago I fancied him for a shag, and now I want to have his babies and name myself Mrs. HarryPotter. What is wrong with me? Why is it the moment I have notions of a serious relationship I start acting like a swooning teenager.
I’ve been afraid to look at him all day. The ride to work was unbearable, so I turned up the radio and sang as loud as I could. But then the morning DJs stopped the music for their incredibly annoying banter, so I tried to cover up the fact I was too afraid to look at him (or he might figure out I ‘like’ him), so I started telling knock-knock-jokes. But I only know two knock know jokes, one of which forces the recipient to say ‘Banana who’ ten or more times. God, I’m such a dick head.
All my weirdness made him weird. By lunch he was acting all twitchy and we both nervously made excuses to not have lunch together. I may find an excuse to take the underground home rather than catching a ride with him. What has gotten into me? So what I fancy him? So what I want to have a relationship with him? Buck it up Chell and act like an adult. Ack, better said than done.