Best when Lukewarm

After returning from a less than productive Spring Break, I said to myself, “Comica baby, you are a confident, capable woman. You can take anything any male throws at you.” I am invincible, a superhero. Wonder Woman ain’t got nuttin’ on me! The first official day of Spring further initiated this belief because the day was mine, the birds were delightfully chipper (as were my professors), and everything was just hunky dory.

Then later on, I began to falter. First, I fell out of my roommate’s bed. Nothing too unusual about that. Clumsy has always been my first, middle, and last name, so that’s nothing to sneeze at. But when I suggested a night out at the Village Café to exert my newfound glorious feminine superpowers to Lil Lindy (a.k.a. Nikki), everything fell short of perfect.

There is a delightfully attractive male waiter that works there, and he always dishes out free coffee to my roomie, Lil Lindy, and myself. There’s nothing wrong with that. Perhaps it was when his coworker caught me snapping a picture of him with my new cell phone that everything went haywire. Soon, my hot coffee decided to plunge into my lap, and I explained to the James Bond of waiters that I “had an accident.” Not so suave, Comica. He caught me staring at his curly locks many, many times as well. I attempted the old college try, but when you’re a giddy five year old trapped in a college student body, the romantic sparks just don’t occur the way you want them to.

I think it's time to hide under my bed until it's time to retire.