middle school: the sequel

Being single is a whole new ball game...a ball game that reminds me of Ms. Joliffe's gym class in middle school.

I've had this inexplicable feeling of anxiety lately--not the typical school-is-stressful or god-i'm-a-terrible-vegan type, but anxiety I couldn't pin down. As I walked down Main Street in the blaring Massachusetts sun this afternoon it hit me: BOYS.

I've been so caught up in school that I hardly realized that I was single. What this essentially means (given my age and the social norms of my quaint Michigan town) is that EVERY MAN I MEET IS A POTENTIAL FUTURE HUSBAND. Those of you who know me understand that I use the word "husband" with the same degree of regularity I use the word "ombudsman." What is an ombudsman anyway, and why does every university on earth have one? Do they have something to do with Buddhism? Anyway, the point is that I've found myself in a bizarre social-intellectual binary of late. I'm growing increasingly comfortable with Marxist theory, and increasingly uncomfortable around people with a Y-chromosome. I have not felt this way since the hormonal purgatory of Crestwood Middle School.

I get starry-eyed and nervous when an even remotely good-looking guy says hello, sits at the computer next to me, or asks me what the readings are for next week. I start doing things quite uncharacteristically Tanya --twirling hair, giggling at criminally unfunny jokes, etc. My brain has started doing this bizarre thing when I meet new men: in one instant I see our whole potential relationship (dates at Red Sox games, His and Hers bathrobes, adorable kids) flash before my eyes--usually to the Partridge Family song "I Think I Love You." I CAN'T CONTROL IT! Maybe it's some strange effect of mid-twenties biology. Perhaps my pituitary gland is chanting "reproduce! reproduce, you fool! We're on a schedule here!"

I see two possible solutions. 1) Stop talking to all males (I have had to do this with one particularly adorable fellow in my class because I let the word "fantabulous" slip when I was talking to him---goofus maximus). 2) Transfer to Mt. Holyoke, Smith, or Wellesley.