Phase 1: Oh. My. S***.
Pardon my French, but how can that not be the first thing to go through my head? The shock that courses through me in that very first instance is killer. Neither good nor bad I guess, but damn boy, you’re looking HELLA fine on this windy Kansas afternoon.
Phase 2: Please Don’t (Do) Be in a Frat.
Oh, to frat or not to frat: that is the question. I see you, handsome man, walking with your pastel-colored breaker shorts from Vineyard Vines. That can only mean one thing, right? * Please God don’t (please do) be in a Fraternity.
*We here at Her Campus KU do not condone pre-confrontational judgment or stereotypical accusations toward fraternized persons.
Phase 3: What is With the Weather?
Sweet Jesus, I’m sweating. My face is hot and where did the breeze go? I’ve been walking for a solid half hour. I even made it up the hill without breaking a sweat, but now? All of a sudden mother nature decided to spite me? Oh yeah, handsome powder pink shorts man, you’ve engulfed me in flames. Not appreciated.
Phase 4: The Over-Done Movie Moment, Reenacted.
You know the scene in No Strings Attached where Ashton Kutcher sees Natalie Portman at a frat party (scoffs and pretends to hate frat guys) and he’s so obviously infatuated with her? Please be that moment. Please, handsome man, look up at me and immediately fall in love. Then we can have an awkward friends-with-benefits relationship, I can become a doctor, and we can eventually end up together and die happy.
Phase 5: I’m A Bush.
No, not like the twin daughters of our 43rd president. It’s a metaphor. What’s something that everyone passes and ignores? Yes, a bush. They’re practical! They make things look pretty and nicer, but do you ever walk on a sidewalk and instantly go, “wow, a bush”? The answer is no. I’m a bush, and the handsome man is a person who walks right by me, never to look up. Our romance is dead, just like my dreams.