So you have a crush (all together now: Yiiiiiiiheeeeee!!!!). You are what, 28, 30 years old and you are still having crushes. She is very pretty after all, and more importantly, you haven’t seen her before in this stagnant quagmire of a dump. You pine, you ache, you get elated all at the same time whenever you get proximal to her. You start playing Always On My Mind in your iPot on eternal repeat, all the 7 versions that you have—of Brenda Lee, Elvis, Willie Nelson, Michael Buble, Fantasia, James Marsden, and even the sucky one of Anoop, because indeed, she is always on your mind. You pine and ache when you don’t see her, and you pine and ache more when you do, but you just know, just know deep in your heart of hearts (because you are anatomically weird) that she is the ultimate, ultimate person for you. And then you notice a wedding band. You freak out.

Get a grip. In the first place, single or not, it’s not like you stand a chance anyway. In the second place, whether you stand a chance or not, it’s not like you won’t embarrass yourself and turn from a genuinely witty, funny guy to a total moron when you approach her anyway. In the third place, you are a genuine moron anyway.
And besides—remember your first ever crush in, what, Grade 4? What about the second one? Or the fiftieth?! Didn’t you tell yourself then that in your heart of hearts she would be the one? And then what happened? You parted class sections, you got busy, you got into drugs, and you totally forgot all about her. Or you saw her one day sneezing violently with a booger shooting out and landing on the floor with a “plop”, and every looooove that you had just fizzled away. Just think of all the fifty-two crushes you’ve ever had—what if you married one of them? Doesn’t the thought make you laugh out loud hysterically now?!? What makes this particular person different from that?!?!? Huh?!? Huh?!?

As I said, get a fucking grip.

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