"That's why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they'd call them something else."

He's tall.
He has brown hair.
He is beautiful....and I love him.

His name is unknown...his place of employment a mystery. He's shown up to the work gym every Monday and Wednesday at 7pm for the last 4 months (though did not show last night). He once wore a Saints t-shirt, which in my head means he's southern and straight (did you get that too?).  There has been talk of having me wear a colts t-shirt to start conversation with him...though it hasn't worked out well because I keep calling the other football team the "new england saints" instead of "new orleans". Whatever. Semantics.


He makes me work out longer and harder so I don't come across as a fat ass. On Monday, he made me work an extra 16 minutes on the elliptical. As it was set on mountain climber #9, on Tuesday I could barely walk. Sigh...

I've enlisted help from our concierge in the lobby. I've gone through the roster of businesses in the building on google, coming across a listing for the CIA. When I brought this up to said concierge, he practically laughed me out of his office. I think it was to throw me off the scent. But now, I have created this whole back story on my boy. He's an undercover you see...which would explain why he is non-descript and after he leaves I forget everything about him. And after this article in the Washington Post this week, I am sure that I would play an amazing job as a spy's wife. People practically open up to me and tell me their deepest, darkest secrets already. Can you imagine if I got paid for it? A spy or a gossip columnists...either one would do.

Wishing and hoping,
XO
Bunny