Cologne?

One of the troublesome things with human interaction is that you can get hurt.

Say, for example, you fell in love. You’re an action person so you took the first best opportunity to make a move. That’s very brave of you, you were drunk and it really did seem like a good idea at the time.

The object of your affection was not receptive, in fact, claimed to have a policy against getting entangled with coworkers. You had to admit to yourself, and you voiced aloud, that that is very sensible. A display of such good judgment you were wondering why you didn’t think of it yourself.

It could never have ended well.

You spend another drunken night together and discuss at length how things are good between you. “Are we good?” “Yeah, we’re totally good. I was worried you weren’t good.” “No, I’m good.”

“So, we’re really cool then?”

Yeah, totally cool. But you’re standing so close to me, and now you’re cluelessly hugging me, and your good, damn, dimples. I know you like me. At least when you’re drunk. So, there’s that, you think sourly to yourself, likes to stand really close to me.

But next Monday at work, barely a glance, and that intoxicated bravery, it’s abandoned you. You can barely muster a hello yourself, and you hide your face and look at the dimples from the corner of your eye.

Later, your sensibly coworker only, leaves. Doesn’t say good night or anything and you wonder what the hell was up with the cologne. There has never been cologne before, WTF?

Seriously, here you are pining away and there’s cologne. If it’s not for you then was there suddenly a realization, inspired by you, of love unpursued? Is tonight the night to bravely admit hopeful intentions to someone else?

Is that wedding bells?

Well, good for you. I’m totally OK with that and we’re friends and excellent coworkers.

Reality and adulthood demand that you accept rejection without pouting, and you are being very mature about the whole thing.

But suddenly you realize, you can’t pretend you’re not interested. No amount of stern, sensible self recrimination takes the edge of wanting it, or soothes the ache of sitting there ungoodbyed.

It’s OK, but You’re not OK. You just hope you don’t look like a girl staring sadly at the pony her parents won’t let her have.

Yours sincerely, The Evil Albino.