There’s … this guy. When I see him, I convince myself that I am not interested. And I really believe it. He’s not my type. There’s something missing. My friends tell me that he’s attractive and I’m all, “Really? I don’t see it.” And I really don’t. I’m only attracted to his personality (and maybe his muscles). He can flirt. Flirt well. So well that it makes me forget that I am not interested.

“What do you mean what do I mean? I’ll watch a movie while you fall asleep and drool on me. We’ll hang.”

“I know you’ll find this surprising, but I am not interested to find out just how you hang.”

“Ah, Molly E, of course you’re interested.”

Unfortunately, I have to remember, that when drunk, my wit can’t keep up with his and I end up looking like an idiot.

“Uhh.”

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