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So I was listening to the “Best of Chaka Khan and Rufus Ft Chaka Khan” playlist on YouTube (free music on the Tube is the best, right?) and she is pretty much speaking to my soul, right now…

In particular, she’s speaking to my soul through the lyrics to Rufus and Chaka Khan’s version of, “Nothing But A Maybe,” which goes a little something like this:

 

Could it be that he’s interested

Or am I just wanting it be so

Do I dare speak to him

Or should I let the moment go

 

Forget this hunger inside

Forget this hunger inside

Should I let the feelin’ flow

Should I just let it flow

Ain’t nothin’ but a maybe  

Oh and baby, I sure would like to know

 

Could it be he’s just friendly

And that’s nothing to get excited about

On the other hand he could be answering

The good vibrations I’m sendin’ out

Well I just don’t know

What I really see in

Should I make a move

Or keep on daydreamin’

Ain’t nothin’ but a maybe

Oh and maybe baby, I sure would like to know…

 

This song has been floating around in my head for the past two weeks and I didn’t even hear it for the first time until this week. Allow me to explain.

I have a crush on a guy. I see him around often, and I think he’s interested as well. In fact, I’m almost sure he is interested. But then again, I just don’t know. Maybe he just has a staring problem. Could it be that he does the squinted eye thing with me from across the room because I’m actually making him uncomfortable and he is wondering what the hell I’m staring at? I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out what his deal is, because I’m too scared to go up to him and find out. Now don’t get me wrong: I am not a punk. At this undisclosed age (and it will remain undisclosed), there is not much I am scared of anymore. I have traveled, dined and explored alone, both domestically and internationally; I know how to not only squash a huge bug, but I’ve also picked up the carcass of a dead mouse my cat butchered without freaking out; and I have gotten up in the face of a white man and called him racist (and with justifiable cause too). The rapper Scarface once said that he “could never see a man cry, til I seen a man die.” Well, I have seen both and didn’t even blink – that’s how fearless I consider myself to be.

Well, fearless about most things. I’m not going to lie: A good looking guy can have a girl shivering behind her shields. Not all of them though, just the ones who I am really attracted to.

I wasn’t always like this – although the root of my current anxiety does run long. I have written before about the time in high school when after months of gazing longingly across the lunchroom, one of my girlfriends summoned the courage to walk over to my crush to tell him about my affinity for him. He responded with a loud and overly-exaggerated laugh, which brought the entire lunchroom to a standstill. It was quite a scene and quite detrimental to my ego. I literally crawled into myself a little that day and died some. How did I get my signals crossed? Looking back, I now realize that the dude wasn’t that attractive to begin with and likely didn’t warrant my affections. However, the incident has managed to create some undue trepidation when it comes to courting the opposite sex. And I fail miserably at being equally assertive in love as I am in other parts of my life.

That’s not to say that I haven’t approached or asked a guy out before. And I’m happy to report that not one of those guys laughed in my face since the fool in the lunchroom (even though in the back in my mind, I’m always suspicious that when they walk away, they are possibly laughing). However, none of those situations ended well. Turns out, I often get my signals crossed with men who weren’t really that interested. My aforementioned childhood trauma/embarrassment combined with what I believe to be an unfair burden of bringing the ‘wrong ones’ into my life has left me a bit shell-shocked, as well as severely wounded on this battlefield we call love.

So I decided to take an honorable discharge away from matters of the heart in order to deal with this post-love traumatic stress syndrome. I said I would wait. I poured my heart into other things, and I’m glad I did it. I learned lots about myself, particularly my likes and dislikes. Plus, I have been able to work on some of those life goals of mine, which is always a plus. But the years (yeah, you read right) of waiting for Prince Charming to come along and choose me, has long since lost its tragic, romanticized luster. And to put it crudely: me wants good lovin’ right now!

And it seems like with everything else in my life, if I want it, I have to go out and get it myself. You know, be proactive and such. I mean, I think that’s what I’m suppose to do, right?

I’m pretty sure he’s as curious about me as I am about him, but then there is that off-chance that I might be wrong. But while I’m certain that if I’m wrong, he won’t laugh in my face…there is always that chance that he might, and that scares me. And on that day that I slunked out of the lunchroom with my heart and pride shattered into a million pieces, I vowed that if a guy ever even attempted to humiliate me like that again, I would go full Carrie and spaz out until blood rained from the walls.

All I know is that I feel too old for a crush. Once again, I’m not going to say how old, but definitely at the age where these feelings of butterflies feel a lot similar to heartburn mixed with bronchitis. And in the words of Sweet Georgia Brown, ain’t nobody got time for bronchitis mixed with heartburn. I’m really at the point where I’m just about to walk up on him and say point blank: “Hey shake and bake. Let’s get to know each other.” Note: I do NOT want to say those exact words, so if you have some proper game, spit it in the comment section below so I can get some suggestions. But until he or I get the courage to speak, it ain’t nothin’ but a maybe.

 

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