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Sex and the Cornfields: Pining in Peirce

In the fast-paced metropolis of Gambier, relationships are about as predictable as finding a pair of Jimmy Choos in Mt. Vernon.

As I sit on New Side, aimlessly stirring my pho around its oversized white bowl, it may appear that I am staring fixedly at the NewScope leaflet I have placed in front of me.
What I’m actually doing, however, is gazing at you through my exceptional peripheral vision. You probably can’t tell because I’m being very subtle about it, and if you do notice, please don’t make me aware that you do because I will be highly embarrassed. Anyway.
I wonder if you remember who I am. Yeah, I guess it was dark in the Horn during the Rave. And I guess I had neon paint slopped all over my face, hair, and body, so it could be kind of hard to recognize me. I guess. But the dancing was so great, and I really feel like dancing is like the conversation of our generation, you know? Who even talks anymore? It’s all about “do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips,” because like…the hips don’t lie. But anyway. We danced to a Dubstep remix of Beyoncé and you moved your legs and torso in a way that made me feel like you really understood my inner femininity and connection with B, which made me really respect you in a guy-who-respects-women-who-respect-themselves way. 
Now that I think about it, your face was mostly obliterated by paint as well...is that even you? No, it is, I’m sure of it. Because I saw that picture of you on Facebook with that guy that you were with at the Rave when we were dancing and now that’s the guy who’s sitting across from you now and the t-shirt yeah yeah, that’s definitely you. Okay, phewph.

Now that I’ve reestablished that you are, in fact, who I thought you were, my thoughts turn to whether I should say hi or not. Problems with this: if you don’t remember me, I look like an idiot and am thus mortified in front of the five surrounding tables in Peirce, plus anyone who you will hilariously relay the story to. If you do remember me…well, this could also be a bit mortifying. I only have one dance move and I’m pretty sure we danced for at least three songs. That’s like 14 minutes of my classic hip-wiggle-sway move and I’m pretty sure it only stays cool for five. So, no, I won’t say hi.
But maybe some eye contact?
I can’t forget to keep reading NewScope or my cover is blown. I wonder if you notice that we’re directly facing each other. What I mean by that is, if you took out the three-and-a-half tables in between us, we’d essentially be having a dinner together. And we’re both eating pho. I think that’s a pretty remarkable sign considering I don’t think many people actually eat the pho here past its second appearance on the menu. We clearly have some zodiac overlap or some shiz.
Ok, you’re getting up to leave, this is my chance. I strategically placed myself between you and the dish return so that you have to pass me on your way out. You’re walking towards me…
You’re smiling…
At me? Holy mother of pearl, you are smiling at me and your pace has quickened. Oh wow this is awkward are you going to hug me? It really looks like it. You are, you’re extending your free, non-tray arm and leaning out to embrace…
Your girlfriend. Oh. This is awkward.
And as I sit here, gazing at the statue of the Native American shooting the deer and pondering the trials and tribulations of being a Kenyon College Single Lady, I can't help but wonder….

Why does everyone have a freakin' girlfriend?
Til next time, fair readers.

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