In My Thursday Night Class. . .

. . . I sit across from this terribly cute blonde. I'm not sure how it started, but I've noticed her looking at me, and in turn have started looking back at her. Where it began as holding a quick glance, then turning away when the other noticed, has now become a full on staring match wherein neither will avert their gaze.

There's an art to approaching someone in class. You can't ask for a number or invite the other out at the start of the semester. Interest has to be parceled out. I typically wait until the last two weeks. Moods are enlightened with the coming of a end to the term. One could act as soon as the mid-term, but that's cutting it too close, in my opinion. This theory has several functions. If she's not interested, you don't have to spend several hours a week in a room with someone who had something better to do. Or, if you do go out and it doesn't work, there's no awkwardness in trying to remain civil, as if nothing happened. Hell, even if it does work, you're still facing discomfort. You have to decide if seats will change as to sit closer to one another, which will create a negative externality for anyone that sat there before. That person then displaces another, and so on, and so on. But if you both maintain your normal seats, there's a possibility that one may feel as if they're being kept a secret. In turn, that makes one feel cheap, even slutty.

Last night, I found myself alone with her in the lobby. We were waiting on an elevator for the concourse. A little early, but we were both blushing. What the hell.

"How'd you do on the test?"

She smiled before responding.

And that's where it died.

Ukrainian. Fuck!

The bell rang as the elevator doors opened.

Stepping through, she asked, "Arn't jou caming?"

"No. No, I'll catch the next one."

The doors pulled shut and I took the stairs.