Oh, hi there.
Didn’t see you because I’m at an arcade playing Whack-a-mole suppressing any feelings/attraction. You? No. I don’t have a crush on you. But it’s a continuous game of Whack-a-mole whenever I see you. A mole in your favor pops up, “Hi he’s cute, isn’t he?” Whack. Suppress that. “His smile is super charmi-“ Whack. Keep that under lock down. “But he and his parents—“ Whack. No.
Stop. He’s a terrible flirt and he is OFF LIMITS.
In social situations, I greet you enthusiastically while averting eye contact as much as possible. When your name comes up in conversation, I shrug and pretend I haven’t really talked to you. When I pass you in the courtyard, I nod cordially like I would to any acquaintance. All of this is necessary because I know perfectly well that it is of utmost importance that I immediately stop having a crush on you.
You’re a terrible flirt — always flashing that dashing smile and holding prolonged gazes. You’re always texting different girls, using that sweet and sensitive card to lure them in. You have that friendly and affable smile that simultaneously says, “I know what I stand for,” and “I’ve only got eyes for you,” if that’s even possible. The fact that you’re such a chronic flirt is a definite deal breaker. At least, it’s supposed to be. Still, the moles keep popping back up…
Actually, in a stunning turn of events, I’m handling this very well, and very logically, which is actually quite uncharacteristic of me. Sometimes, I handle it so well that I almost have myself convinced that you’ve done me some grievous wrong. I handle it so well that when people say how nice you are, I have to stop myself from contradicting them. “No,” I always want to say, “He’s terrible. He’s a terrible person. Boys are terrible people.”
I know that’s not true.
I swore a few years back that I would play this game of Whack-a-mole and win. That I would be logical, that I would never fall for exclusively the good in people and neglect to see their flaws. That I would never be hurt by people who don’t care about me as much as I cared about them. That I would refuse to accept scraps of emotion. That I would beat every one of those misplaced moles back into the caves that they come from.
And that’s what I’m doing.
Some things you can do to make this process easier:
• Not talk to me.
• Continue flirting with everyone.
• Don’t make it so clear that you know them from camp.
• Don’t make it so evident you guys are only watching Lifetime.
• Stop saying meaningful and philosophical things.
• Stop smiling.
• Stop giving me prolonged gazes.
• Stop being nice to me.
• Just stop.
• Stop, okay?
Okay thanks bye.
I hear chattering outside the door and peek outside to see you climbing the stairs, female laughter and footsteps following. You grin widely, practically a Crest commercial for charm. I let the stuffed bat droop to the ground. All the moles fall silent. I’ve won, haven’t I?
What a terrible victory.
With an air of casual indifference smothering the dying embers of any misplaced moles,
YY Shang is a freshman in college and a serious Swiftie. Her ultimate dream is to eat a Chipotle burrito while simultaneously wrapped in a blanket burrito. She loves puns, writing and romantic comedies. You can find her (hilarious!) tweets on Twitter.
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