A Mid-Semester Afternoon's Nightmare

During my sophomore year in college, I started pining away for a scruffy little poet who had pursued me during the previous semester’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. While we were in the play together, I'd been flattered by his attention, but it was kind of freaking me out, so I let him know in no uncertain terms that Snug the Carpenter and Mote the Fairy were not meant to be.

But a year after the production, I was boyfriendless, spending Saturday nights holed up in my dorm room playing Tetris and eating powdered Tang. The poet and I had an English class together, and he was growing more and more attractive. How could I have failed to notice his smashing good looks, humor, sensitivity, and wit?

I decided that he was The One.

My love was all consuming - I could think of nothing other than the day when we would finally be together. To this end, I positioned myself in all the right places at all the right times, the better for him to notice me on his way to class.

Nothing happened.

I made made sure to eat my cafeteria dinner at the same time my soul mate would be there with his friends.

Nada, except the occasional friendly nod in my direction.

I attended his poetry reading at the local coffee shop, but still my love did not approach me.

I did not wish to postpone our union any longer. Fate was fate, but I would have to give it a little nudge.

My best friend and I were sitting in our French for Business class, waiting for the perpetually late Madame Le Fevre to make her appearance when I decided that the time was ripe to make my move.

I donned my thrift store army coat, applied some lipstick, gathered my books and, with my best friend’s words of encouragement still ringing in my ears (“Are you sure you want to do this, Rim?”), vacated my desk and made for my beloved's dorm, carpe diem style. In this state of mind, could anyone be expected to compose, en francais, a letter inquiring as to the availability of the rental property in Cannes?

His window faced the quad and movement could be seen within. Without a moment’s hesitation, I launched a barrage of ill-constructed snowballs towards it and shouted my beloved's name until he popped his head outside.

“Oh, hey Rima. What’s up?”

“Can I come up for a second? I need to talk to you.”

My love threw down his keys and five minutes later, I arrived panting and sweating at his door with no use for small talk.

”So, I’ve been thinking a lot about last year, Midsummer Night’s Dream, all that stuff? And I think it was really stupid of me not to go out with you then, you know what I mean? So I was actually wondering, you know, if there's, like, any way you would give me a second chance?”

No sooner had the words escaped my lips than I realized the enormity of my mistake. My beloved stood before me wearing a look that was at once uncomfortable and unmistakably amused.

"Wow, that's, um . . . really sweet, Rima, but I . . . uh . . . have a girlfriend now."

"Oh! Shit. . . . .So, it's a "no," then?"

"Sorry things never worked out between us."

"Me too. Shit."

"I guess I'll see you around" he said to my quickly retreating back.

In retrospect, I'm not sure just what kind of response it was that I expected. It seems obvious that even if he wasn't already taken, no self-respecting guy would have played out the script I had written in my head. ("So glad you stopped by! I was just thinking about how I've never stopped loving you.")

But whether it's a testament to my healthy ego and spectacular naïveté or a cautionary tale about the futility of impromptu declarations of undying love, it ranks pretty high on the list of my most embarrassing moments.


"Mote, the Stalker Fairy"

This post was my contribution to Mrs. Flinger's Write-Of-Passage challenge. Today's assignment was to write about your most embarassing moment. You can read the other entries here: