April 4, 2011
Add some disheveled hair and three day-old beard stubble to the mix, and I'll practically trip over my own feet trying to snap up the empty barstool next to him. I'll almost get whiplash from flipping my hair in his direction and my eyes will pull a muscle from batting my eyelashes so hard. Sometimes I try to find ways to touch his jacket out of nowhere. I hope he doesn't notice as I caress his elbow while I ask him to pass me a napkin. That is definitely weird, right?
Sure, he has that homeless Vet vibe going on, but I'm not repulsed by at it, which doesn't even make sense. By all accounts, it should be something I'd shun on impulse like agreeing to do a Jägerbomb or enjoying another Kardashian-based reality show. But, it's the opposite; I perk up when he walks in wearing one. As Bill O'Reilly would yell, you can't explain that!