He wore a Christmas sweater
in the first week of November -
I can vividly remember the first glimpse
and then the gaze and finally the confirmation
as he strode away that indeed it was a Christmas sweater in the first week of November.
It was hot.
The weather, I mean - it wasn't all that cold out.
I'd glanced at the others thinking it was a theme
or a party or a running gag, but nope.
He alone wore a Christmas sweater in the first week of November.
It wasn't bad looking.
The sweater, I mean - no glitter or gaudiness.
Dark blue and very nicely fitting, with snowflakes and other such holiday and winter motifs.
Of course he kept walking past me on imaginary errands instead of standing still and letting me stare.
It was cute.
He was cute, I mean - maybe even adorable.
Of course I couldn't say that to him and it probably wasn't what he was going for but before I left he walked in and I had to say something.
I told him it was festive but I hesitated and I'm sure he felt mocked.
It was a mistake.
Going for "festive," I mean - in lieu of "cute."
It's said curiosity kills the cat but folks forget that hesitation damns the mouse.
If I'd said "cute" and he'd understood (or not) a truth'd been born and that'd be that.
But this hesitation on form and nicety and the fact that I'm more nervous than I sound and he's more nervous than he shows got us to a room with a damn cute boy and the best I could come up with was "festive."
Believe me, a Christmas sweater in the first week of November isn't really all that festive.
in the first week of November -
I can vividly remember the first glimpse
and then the gaze and finally the confirmation
as he strode away that indeed it was a Christmas sweater in the first week of November.
It was hot.
The weather, I mean - it wasn't all that cold out.
I'd glanced at the others thinking it was a theme
or a party or a running gag, but nope.
He alone wore a Christmas sweater in the first week of November.
It wasn't bad looking.
The sweater, I mean - no glitter or gaudiness.
Dark blue and very nicely fitting, with snowflakes and other such holiday and winter motifs.
Of course he kept walking past me on imaginary errands instead of standing still and letting me stare.
It was cute.
He was cute, I mean - maybe even adorable.
Of course I couldn't say that to him and it probably wasn't what he was going for but before I left he walked in and I had to say something.
I told him it was festive but I hesitated and I'm sure he felt mocked.
It was a mistake.
Going for "festive," I mean - in lieu of "cute."
It's said curiosity kills the cat but folks forget that hesitation damns the mouse.
If I'd said "cute" and he'd understood (or not) a truth'd been born and that'd be that.
But this hesitation on form and nicety and the fact that I'm more nervous than I sound and he's more nervous than he shows got us to a room with a damn cute boy and the best I could come up with was "festive."
Believe me, a Christmas sweater in the first week of November isn't really all that festive.
Samuel Tillman