"Creepy."

Don't you hate when you can't come up with a good comeback?

Don't you hate it when you can only come up with a bad comeback?

Don't you hate it even more when you come up with a bad comeback, but you half-mutter/half-speak it, so that they don't know if they heard it?

Because that's what happened me.

I've got this weird relationship that I'm not sure if it's because I imagine myself to be more of a studly pimp, or whether or not it's really true.

Pimply Girl lives in my building. She keeps trying to talk to me, when we're in the elevator. We're in one class - Third World Politics. She wonders about how my test went, blahdity blahdity blah.

She seems too excited. This could be her regular attitude. Or it could be infatuation. As someone who had more crushes than he had Chinese food, I'm uniquely qualified to diagnose these.

And I've had a lot of Chinese food. I've also written a lot of bad metaphors. Anyway.

Today, she comes with her friends in the elevator.

Cheerier than a girl in a candy shop, she says, "So what'd you think of the test? How'd you do?"

"I thought I did well. It was...interesting." Quarter-second pause. My floor came up.

One of her friends says, "Cree-eepy."

Was it that pause? My trenchcoat? My dress shirt and tie? Was it my response? The pause before interesting?

Was he just being a prick?

I knew the answer.

After a half-second pause to contemplate the "what-the-fuckness" of the situation, I, half-mutting, half-speaking, half-turning to face the turd, I said, "Hey, fuck you, too." But this was no regular fuck you. The inflection was perfect - the right mix of disdain, class, confidence, and rhyming. The finest Juliard thespians could not have gotten a better fuck you too.

Only problem? Lack of audio. Had I a microphone, it would have been the standard of fuck you, toos-textbooks would have written on it. The word fuck would cease to have meaning, because no one could ever reach the state of that fuck you, too. It was a great fuck you, too. And I'd like to thank Pimply Girl for that. Because it's not often that I'm reminded that I feel like a player. Even if Pimply Girl's probably brain damaged, or I'm misinterpreting the signs.

She may be Pimply Girl, and I may not care if she's devoured by wolves at this point, but right then, she was my muse.

Infatuations are always about people outside your league. I really hope Pimply Girl doesn't think I'm outside her league.

I'm kinda growing a mullet right now.