Special to The Lampoon
We’ve all been there before. You’re with your girls coming back from Tim’s with a multigrain grilled cheese and a purple gatorade in hand, and all of the sudden you see him. The man of your dreams, in tight khaki pants and a fitted t-shirt imprinted with the name of a band you’ll never listen to, riding on a longboard, starts barreling toward you.
At first, you try not to look like you were just picturing your lives together; so you avert your eyes and play with your hair that is not even curly anymore. Instead of coming across as an America’s Next Top Model type who just happens to be going to Fredonia to pursue a career in hip hop, you start uncontrollably laughing like you’re at stage one: the Giggs.
By the time this beautiful angel rides past you, there’s no denying your impulse to gawk with your mouth agape. You pray he doesn’t see that you have stopped breathing for a couple seconds. And while you are contemplating whether or not there was something on your face, you uncontrollably blurt out to your best friend, “OH MY GOD, did you see that guy? DAMN.”
In the moment, you’re optimistic that this mysterious stranger didn’t hear you, but trust me — they always do. All you can hope is that you don’t have to awkwardly stand behind him in the line for that “Italian” flatbread at Cranston that’s never ready.
The other day, when we weren’t living in Gray-donia, I was walking to class with my aviators on, feeling particularly invincible, when I spotted these two prime guys walking toward me. The way this campus is set up, you can’t help but see someone from like a mile away on the sidewalk and you just have to prepare yourself for the inevitable interaction. I had way too much time to decide not to look their way, don my best bitch face and to fixate my gaze on the confusing architecture of Willy’s. As the moment approached when these soccer-player-types were to walk past me, the boy with the three-day-old 5 o’clock shadow put up his hand like he was ready for a high five.
Now, being me, I expected that one of his friends was behind me. Because this kid was not even close to meeting my eye level as he was staring right past me at the maze of suites he was just about to enter. Since I made no effort to return the manly gesture of hello, he brought his other hand up and high fived himself, yelling, “Alright.”
It all happened so fast that I just let out a slight “I don’t care” huff of air, accompanied by a half smile, and kept on my route as their laughter echoed in the archway before coming in contact with the haunting shell of Erie.
The moral of this tale — if a hot guy and his friend are making their way toward you and one of them feels the need to give you a high five, just do it! You’ll probably never see him again and you’ll feel like a boss knowing that a super sexy man just wanted to touch your hand fo