Mi Amor

Dear Diary,Today a guy winked at me in Spanish class. He sneezed while doing it, but it totally still counts. I probably should have noticed his interest in me sooner. Before leaving, he always shouts, “¡Hasta la vista!” which sounds enticing in itself. True, he generally looks in the direction of the teacher and waves at her, though I’m pretty sure that’s just his way of playing hard to get. I had never really thought about him much, but I have to keep my options open. I really need to keep my options open.I am going to make the first move.It will be taken as a compliment, right? Maybe I will buy him a croissant from Grill and write my number on a napkin. Maybe I will wait outside his window until he notices and then I proceed to serenade him with a Taylor Swift song. But I should probably keep this casual. I’ll cruise up to him on my borrowed bike, and nonchalantly recite the words, “I don’t need to read the terms and conditions to accept you.”Then I shall ride away into the sunset, AKA Hoyt, and wait for him to message me on Facebook.After our numerous phone conversations, we will decide to go for a walk. It will start with a trip to Stillwell’s where I will not be judged for getting a medium and then continue to the boardwalk near the river. He will reveal that he is a member of Exeteras, and I will reveal that I can eat a large pizza in less than ten minutes.Because New Hampshire weather is unpredictable, rain will begin plummeting from the sky. With a laugh, we will run back to my dorm’s common room.Despite being soaked, he will think that it’s a perfect time to get down on one knee. He proposes. I say yes. Rev marries us in secret. My roommate buys me a BLT as a gift. We both go to Yale. He codes the next Facebook and calls it “Who’s Who.” Thanks to all of my narrative writing, I complete a best-selling autobiography. We have two and a half kids. Instead of white, our picket fence is orange because we’re hip. We’re rich. We retire. We travel the world together. Together for the last time, we fall asleep six feet under.And to think it all started with a wink.Starting a new scrapbook/shrine,Majestic

Previous
Previous

Stratford Style Guide: Part Two

Next
Next

Outbreak of Senioritis