Welcome back to the fourth grade. You can sit next to me if you want to.

And hey, while we’re being all chummy, let’s GOSSIP.

Boys suck. All of them. All of them with their cute floppy hair and their sudden charm which they seem to be able to turn on and off like a light switch. I’m finished trying to understand or decipher or have ANY IDEA what the hell is going on with them. Except, of course, the obvious – they SUCK (or drool, as the case may be).

I ran into the Marine again, purely by chance. It was nice. We stood and talked for about a half an hour, in the way that people do when neither is anxious to part ways. We lingered and caught up on each other’s lives. I inquired as to whether he planned to stick around a little while, or head straight out of town. He said he wasn’t in a rush, and that he would call me. “I’ll call you,” he said. We talked about maybe meeting up for dinner.

Having been stuck at home for days on end after surgery I was eager for some social interaction, you know? Good, clean fun? Dinner, conversation, possibly a lusty kiss goodnight after reminding myself that he couldn’t see the gross & disfiguring scars marring my belly flesh?

BUT NO.

He didn’t call. He didn’t even call to say, “Sorry, gotta run.” He didn’t call to say, “I’m a total jackass and haven’t the slightest clue what I want from you or in general.” Do you know what happened? Because I do. He’s clearly not interested, nevermind his very confusing flirtations, and just too cowardly to say, “No, I’m not interested in dinner OR you, thanks anyway.” Which would be a lot less insulting than continually agreeing to meet and then blowing me off.

So. Now that we’ve gossiped and bonded over boys, would you like to be my Valentine? We could exchange those candy hearts and cartoon cards. I’ve got dibs on Hello Kitty. What are your V-Day plans?