It's just a little crush....

It has recently been brought to my attention that among the scope of my many delightful character traits remains the unfaltering fact that I seem to be almost always harboring a secret crush. In fact, whenever I talk with my friends, after the initial pleasantries are exchanged, the inevitable question that arises is always: “So Westchester, any new crushes these days?”

I am not sure when this started, or how I came to be such a “Crush Master”; but, I think perhaps it may all stem from the fact that I am a BIG wimp; and rather than trying to hit on guys or attempt to ask them out, I have just gotten into the habit of harboring a lot of unrequited secret crushes from afar.

In college, I once read that in order to communicate attraction with a man standing at the opposite side of a crowded room, one had only to make eye contact, and then smile. At that point, the magazine argued, if he was interested, the man would take that smile as an invitation for a conversation and most definitely approach. This seems logical for normal people; yet, I found that in my case, as soon as my gaze was met-a look of sheer panic would overcome my face and I would quickly look away (much like a deer would freeze when caught in the glaring headlights of a semi-truck barreling towards them on a country road). As you can imagine, that plan of “spot and smile” rarely worked for me.

These days, while I am no longer the “Deer in Headlights” gazer that I once was, I still manage to boggle any attempts at cross-room communications. For example, whenever I am at the gym I diligently practice making eye contact with the bevy of cute guys in the weight room without looking away in a crazed panic whenever our eyes do meet. I like to think that one day, my attempts at eye contact might work, and one of my gym crushes could conceivably talk to me. At that point, the likelihood of a panic attack is still very real; however, it is nice to think that maybe I could hold it together long enough to impress upon said guy my masterful wit as well as my uncanny ability to look beautiful after 45 minutes of running on the tread mill (the latter statement here remains indisputably unsubstantiated).

In the meantime, I will continue to live my sassy single life with my secret crushes remaining a secret; however, according to many valid sources, “to know Little Miss Westchester is to love her,” so for the lucky guy who does manage to skyrocket from secret crush to a realized crush-well I guess it doesn’t get any better than that.