Busted

Ah, the early stages of a relationship. Whether you're 34 or 14 some things never change.

To say I've been giddy about Mr. W is a huge understatement. I've reverted back to giggly little schoolgirl and it's fantastic. It's been a month (what a month it's been). A few weeks ago, my co-workers were teasing me about how smitten I am and how I've likely been distracted by practicing my signature with his last name all over my notebooks, just like many of us started doing with crushes back in our school days.

And until last week, I hadn't done that.

But then I was snowed in at a work event with plenty of time for daydreaming and plenty of paper for doodling. Before I knew it, I found myself scribbling his last name a few times on a random sheet of paper. "Ha ha," I thought. "My little secret. Nobody will know about this." Famous last words; if Michael Bolton taught me anything, it's that none of my little secrets ever stay secret.

Over the weekend, Mr. W was getting into my car and I noticed that my notebook from last week's event was strewn about the passenger seat. I told him to just throw it in the back and he just paused and looked at something on the page. I sat there thinking, "what the heck? Just throw it into the back seat already and let's go get hamburgers!" And he just looked at me and pointed to something written on the random sheet of paper that had fallen out of the notebook.

There it was--in beautiful cursive penmanship, I might add--his last name. I gasped, squirmed, and blushed crimson red. No denying it. I've got a crush and it's making me act like a 14-year-old. I fumbled for words to explain why his good family name was written on that sheet. He was gracious and I was adorably mortified, what would he think and would it freak him out?

And because he's great and is not too unlike the 14-year-old me who has a massive crush, he didn't freak out. In fact I think it might have even made him like me more. Which of course made me like him more. And that's where we jumped into the infinite loop of the virtuous giggly-little-schoolgirl cycle.