After seeing you for the first time, I now believe in love at first sight. I text a minimum of six people and two group chats asking who you are and why I’ve never met you before. After five minutes, I know your name, fraternity, and the intimate details of your last four sexual encounters. Once I know this, I need to prove to myself that I’m more attractive than every girl you’ve ever made eye contact with, so I troll your Facebook back to 2008 and your Twitter back to the beginning. I want to shoot myself when I see that your Instagram is private. I decide a more rigorous search is necessary. This is where I turn to Google, LinkedIn, and possibly the university website. I then declare my love for you in the group chat, telling my friends that if they come within 10 feet of you, I will kindly murder them in their sleep.
We say “hi” and hug at parties, but still manage not to acknowledge each other in the sober daylight hours. I put that extra “oomph” into my outfit on days we have classes together, which means I blankly stare at my full closet of clothes and complain that I have nothing to wear for about 45 minutes longer than I usually do. Once we’re in class, I strategically sit within three seats of you in any direction. This gives off the “I don’t care, I’m aloof, #YesAllWomen” vibe while still allowing me to hear every decibel that comes out of your mouth.
We play platonic way too often for our relationship to stay platonic. This includes exchanging text messages like, “Hey, how was your break?” or “How do you think you did on that test?” We both know that we’re going to hook up, but we don’t know where, when, or at what BAC level. I’m just waiting for you to send me one simple late-night emoji so I know with 100 percent certainty I have this in the bag.
I want to hang out soberly, but I don’t know how to interact in social situations when I’m sober. Despite this, I probably think we’re dating. Whenever you get a new best friend on Snapchat, I use my supersonic stalking skills to find her on Facebook and solemnly swear to sabotage her life and the lives of her future children. This is completely justified because we’re dating and all. But seriously though, just the thought of having no title on our flirtation-friend-relationship gives me hives, which is why you receive “What are weeeee?” texts every time I have a sip of alcohol.
I told you I wouldn’t do #buttstuff with you until we were exclusive, and you miraculously asked me to be exclusive a week later. Sometimes, we hang out when we’re sober, and despite my clinically diagnosed awkwardness, we talked on the phone for three whole minutes once. Sometimes we cuddle.
We have a great “you hold my hair back, you get a blow job” understanding, and that works fine for me..