when a young man's fancy puzzlingly turns to thoughts of...something

The simple stuff first.

I just opened a can of coffee with a hammer, a nail, and a screwdriver, having realized that the can opener resides at the new apartment and the old can of coffee is in fact empty. Never stand between me and my morning cuppa.

Also M's colleague Georges, a third-year in her department, has declared us his surrogate sisters and wants to spoil us. He started by helping M carry some boxes of her stuff to store in his basement for the summer, then bought us lunch; tonight he brought over a half gallon of ice cream in return for cookies M had baked him in return for his basement space.

It's rather fun being spoiled. Now, before you get any ideas, please know that Georges is a devout Catholic and once had aspirations to the priesthood. In fact, I believe he got all the way up to the vow-taking level before he decided he couldn't do it. Having lived in a nearly all-male family (one brother, a father, and a mother who never had much time for "girliness"), gone to an all-boys' high school, and attended an all-male seminary, Georges could use a couple of sisters to teach him about the female gender. It's only fair.

Now onto the complicated stuff.

I never responded to Wretched Tim's e-mail a few weeks ago. Friday night he stopped in at Ann Taylor. I looked up from the register and there he was. And, dear readers, the first thought that ripped through my mind upon seeing him was Damn, he's good-looking. I had forgotten just how good-looking.

He wanted to know all about what's been going on and how I've been, and my internal flusteredness expressed itself in an easygoing and animated chattiness. I told him about my new job and new apartment, and he offered to help me move. I told him I'd keep that in mind, listened to his compliments about my great haircut, and suggested he call me. He suggested the same, then noticed that my manager-and-friend Ashleigh was leaning on the counter watching him, so he gave me a slightly awkward hug and said his goodbyes.

At first, of course, I was furious. He's at it again. Popping up periodically in my life, and to what end? But after a frantic phone call to M, I started to reconsider. Maybe if he keeps coming back, he really is just clueless. Cluelessness can be cured. Right?

So I'm giving him another chance. I left him a voicemail tonight inviting him to help me move like he offered to (I told him -- which is true -- that there would be plenty of people there, from church as well as my parents and a few other friends, so that -- and this I didn't tell him -- it's not a big deal kind of event). If he decides to follow through on that, then well and good; we'll see what happens next. If he hems and haws and backs down (which would be rude; I helped him move) then he'll just have to wait to see me again until he comes back on his own initiative. And then I won't care at all.

Anyway. There you have it. (A letter opener.)