Untingled (or) All that he was

I was always tongue-tied in his presence. That was what I remember the most about him. Well, that and the magnificient body. A perfect 10 on the Drool Scale. (Damn, he's hot!) Ten years is a long time to have a crush on someone. So, that's just why I didn't. Well, you could say it was ten years, kind of, but then not all of ten years. I mean, he visited every year. So parts of ten years is... about a month per year and it adds up to just ten months, right? Ok, dammit. Ten years. Thirteen to twenty-three. There, I said it! And that's a whole lot!

The crush. It might have been because of the cool pair of shades which I associate only with him. Or his being a pro at photography. Or the way he chain-smokes. So he's probably going to cough his lungs out by the time he's 40 (he's above thirty right now, so make that before he's 50). His lips have turned black and he was huffing and puffing while climbing the steps at Mt. Opera yesterday... but then, the way he holds that cigarette in his hands... I totally hate the smoke and I do not like men who smoke. Normally.

Anyway, the point of the present post is that I've finally (Yes! Yippie!! Yayhoo!!!) outgrown the crush. I think it's got something to do with that spare tyre around his middle, but then what good is a crush when his body has been put to pasture? (So deliciously superficial, I. :D )(The reason for the end might be my maturity level also. We must not outrule any possibilities.)

I was able to talk to him without stumbling, fumbling and generally making a fool of myself (like I've been doing forever.) I looked him in the eye and he called my name... the full name (not many people do), rolling the R like he always does in that special way of his, and there was no answering tingle in my brain. That was the final test. It's now over. He has lost the power to reduce me to a crazed, blubbering nincompoop in front of him. I, people, am liberated!

And he, people, is still a nice guy. He brought me coffee.