Confessions of A Naughty Girl

The Way To A Man's Groin Is Through My Juice Box

I have made 3% progress in my "person of interest" quest.

Which would be fantastic metrics for one day if I didn't have to work my way back up from negative standing.

I don't think my "person of interest" is very interested. Well, in me, at least. In fact, as I mentioned to Mole the other day on the way out of the office, I'm not even sure he's interested in me as a homosapien, much less anything else. Despite the combination of some stimulating and flirtatious initial encounters and my self-inflated gauge of interest, our last four to five encounters have been shoddy at best. My overly sensitive radar senses dismissiveness and a general awkwardness on his part. Probably because I continue to speak English-As-A-Second-Language since I am a native to Planet Weird when I'm around him.

Anyway, our workplace, ever-encouraging of the work-play balance, has a soccer team. Due to my badness with balls, I refused to join, but did offer to be a cheerleader for the team.

Well, somewhere in my voluntary offer to be "head cheerleader" (not to be taken literally, at least for most of the players), my self-appointment was misconstrued and I was suddenly cast as "Team Mom". Players were bitching about not getting snacks after practice, and my reputation was tainted, because really, how can you parlay "Team Mom" into a vision that doesn't entail Jerzees sweatsuits, feathered hair, and a station wagon?

However, I pulled my thoughts (and my resources) together and decided that I was going to show some love for the team - and one player in particular - and "score two goals with one ball", or whatever. You know what I'm trying to say here.

My genius idea afforded one important objective: to show him interest the only way I know how.

I gave him a juice box.

I went to practice, risked being demolished by swarms of mosquitoes (it's still humid in Atlanta), and supported my team. Yes, that's right - I risked looking like a malnourished Sally Struthers "Feed the Children" advertisement eating cereal with my hands to hand-deliver a juice box. Good G*d is that romantic. Because really, have old cliches taught us nothing? Isn't the best way to a man's groin through a juice box?

I brought Finding Nemo fruit snacks and Capri Sun juice boxes for the whole team, but I did make sure he had the most unwrinkled package and the box with the most juice in it, because even though factories standardize that sort of shit, I don't standardize my choice in crushes. So within the powers vested in me, let the f*cking hunk get the most juice from what I can judge, okay? Only the best.

And it was well worth it.

Amidst a high-five and an affectionate "thank you", I saw him sip through that mini straw and catch my eye, and as he funneled his Pacific Cooler, I saw his eyes shine with desire - desire probably for me. Or maybe he was thirsty. And maybe when his eyes "shone", it was because a mosquito flew into it.

Shit.

posted by KA @ 7:48 PM