“No offense, but you’re my weird crush.”
The confession arrived while they were both waiting for the copier to stop making a noise like a dying goose.
There were several possible responses. Laughter seemed cruel. Gratitude seemed encouraging. Asking what made the crush weird felt like volunteering for injury.
So the recipient chose the worst option. “What does that mean?”
Apparently, it meant everything.
The attraction had begun with the way they ate yogurt using the tiny plastic lid as a spoon whenever the office kitchen ran out of cutlery. Then there was the habit of naming every malfunctioning printer. The winter coat with one missing button. The tendency to whisper “betrayal” whenever a vending machine refused to drop a snack.
None of these qualities had ever been considered seductive.
The admirer continued.
There was also the way they checked every chair before sitting down, carried three pens but never one that worked, and always smelled faintly of cinnamon despite never eating cinnamon.
“This is sounding less like a crush and more like surveillance.”
That caused immediate panic.
It was explained that normal crushes were based on cheekbones, confidence, expensive shoes, or mysterious emotional unavailability. This one was built from details no dating profile would include because nobody would think they mattered.
The copier finally stopped screaming.
Neither person moved.
“So I’m attractive because I’m badly assembled?”
“No. You’re attractive because you’re specific.”
That answer lingered.
For years, the recipient had assumed love required presenting a cleaner version of the self: better posture, better clothes, fewer strange habits, less evidence of being difficult to manufacture.
Instead, someone had apparently developed feelings because of the evidence.
The recipient considered this carefully, then opened a desk drawer, removed a yogurt, peeled back the lid, and folded it into a makeshift spoon.
The admirer stared. “See?” came the sigh. “That. Exactly that.”
“Enjoy the moment,” the recipient said. “because, no offense, but you’re my weird stalker, and I’m filing a restraining order.”
©2012 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys
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