I met a super cute guy in a swimming pool change room, an athlete with blonde hair and lean limbs. As both of us are demure and religious, he didn’t need to ask when he started to towel off his body-I turned away immediately without question. We shared a few words, but I didn’t know his name. I tried to facebook stalk him but that proved to be difficult without a name. It dawned on me at that moment that my cool war veteran friend would know who he was. Even better, the super cute guy may get the wrong idea, seeing me speak with him. I ditch the super cute guy and strategically flirt* with my veteran friend, who was lounging on the top bunk of a bunk bed tucked away in a tight corner decorated with dangling coconuts and velvet curtains. He came back from the war, so he was missing some limbs. As always, he was super cool with his Lenny Kravitz style, sunglasses and leather and beaded jewelry. I make chit chat and try to assess with my peripheral vision if super cute guy was watching me and getting jealous.
”So, who’s that super cute guy?” I ask my friend.
”Oh no no no girl, he’s not the one!” my friend answers.
”Why not??” I ask.
”Because he’s fifteen!”
I know this statement has been pathetically uttered many times before, but I swear, he did not look fifteen.
*Y’all know this is a dream because Lord knows I don’t know how to flirt.
”So, who’s that super cute guy?” I ask my friend.
”Oh no no no girl, he’s not the one!” my friend answers.
”Why not??” I ask.
”Because he’s fifteen!”
I know this statement has been pathetically uttered many times before, but I swear, he did not look fifteen.
*Y’all know this is a dream because Lord knows I don’t know how to flirt.
