I’ve been taking a sociology class at a local university and last night was our final. The professor is a totally laid-back, funny guy so we decided to take him out after the test. We hit O’Gara’s garage in St. Paul.
All semester long, my friend (Amy) and I have been surreptitiously drooling over another fellow student we call “Hot Guy.” Hot guy is twenty-six, has dark blond hair, dark blue eyes, is muscular and quiet. Take it from me, he’s hot.
A few weeks ago, Amy and I upped the ante. We started calling him “Hot Guy” to his face. He doesn’t even flinch, which leads me to believe that he knows he’s hot. Big surprise.The three of us talk a few times during breaks and after class and I realize that he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer and he’s pretty self-centered. Another big surprise. He’s nice, but at this point the mystery is gone, the illusion is shattered, the fantasy balloon has been popped. (It’s not like I was looking to hook up with him. I am a happily married woman. I just liked my mental image of what kind of man he was better than reality, okay?)
So, as I said, we hit O’Gara’s last night. Hot Guy asked me to play darts with him. I hit a bullseye on the first throw and proceeded to lose mightily over the next hour. Amy, Hot Guy and I talked about his time in Hawaii, his wife, his plans for the summer. We all talked with the professor about the class and the final. A good time was had by all.
Then we started saying our goodbyes and Hot Guy hugged me! I started blushing, I got all warm and started sweating! I was on fire! And I knew the real reason we called him Hot Guy.
::whew::